I have been home for a week now. It is Saturday evening and it is quiet.
I once thought my roots here were severed – that should I return, things would be so foreign, I’d be a tourist. They are not.
I haven’t decided if this is a relief yet. But, God, I love my family. And I love my little dogs.
I have to go feed them, soon.
In a sharp, almost jarring contrast, when I feel alone, I feel it most here. If I stop and think about it, I can actually feel my heart wrench and I have to step away. I hate myself, which isn’t surprising, and I hate myself most here.
I have to stop: I stop thinking. And I go feed my dogs. And something. I don’t know yet.