I took myself away from all the places I used to run to. The mountains, the beaches, the desert, the endless miles of road to drive and sing and scream my heart out on. I took myself away from solitude. I forced myself out of all the dark corners that I used to hide in like a mouse being flushed out of the cracks and crevices of a house that offered comfort in the darkness. Now I’m here. Never alone. No where to run to. Surrounded by endless trees that somehow feel so expansive, yet so confining. This green-tinted claustrophobia has me missing the shades of brown that painted the hills and valleys of my home. The place I know like the back of my hand. The roads I could drive with my eyes closed. The hilltop views and cityscapes. The safety and comfort of all those hiding places. Some I shared, some I kept to myself.
I wish I could say that leaving the comfortable made me stronger, made me more resilient. But I can’t. I feel trapped out in the open. The cunning mouse, now stuck in the bright lit center of the room. Being watched. Feeling like prey. Vulnerable and with no where to go.
I want to find resilience and lose the need for those beloved hiding places. Or at least find some new ones here. But I’m frozen in fear and stress and anxiety. I’m too scared to try and replace my home with anything here because it would feel too much like letting go. The anger and grief and sadness is too much to dwell on. I feel weak for missing home and not finding happiness here.
I don’t think I know how to be happy anymore. What I would give to go to any one of my hiding places now. To think. To grieve. To let myself feel.
Nothing is my own anymore, and I think that is destroying me.
gummygunk
2087
prguitarman
annaxmalina
theartofmadeline
