Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019 @ 6:14 pm
Flying home. Not home. Where is home? I have no home. I have multiple homes. I'm confused.
I step on the plane and make my way into the tail, stooped over to navigate the low roof. I am suddenly claustrophobic and the nightmare begins.
This is the first time that I have not enjoyed flying.
I bite off three of my nails. I eat half of a fancy chocolate bar. I try to listen to music, but it makes me cry.
The shuttle bus drops me at the house. I haul my stuff inside.
He's on the couch, and I look at him, and my hand goes up over my mouth and I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't do this.
"I don't think I should be here. I can't do this," I stammer. I drop my bags and go up the stairs, gasping for air.
Later, I tell him that's it's over. Really over. I watch him implode in agony. There are flowers on the table and a stew in the slow cooker.
He asks that I leave tomorrow. I've been home for less than three hours.
I can't deal with this day anymore. It's only six o'clock, but I'm going to drug myself to sleep so that I can stop crying.