“I’ve never felt like I belonged here. On this earth, in this body. A feeling of homesickness for a place that may not even exist has followed me every day of my life, and it only grows stronger as I grow older.

From a medical perspective, it’s depression. A good dose of trauma. Definitely anxiety, some ADHD, and a number of other diagnoses I’ve collected along the way and stacked on my mental shelf. My teens and twenties were littered with turbulent relationships, self-harm, suicide attempts, and ambulance rides to the crisis unit with their beige walls, paper scrubs, and mirrorless, lockless bathroom. I was gifted an amazing mother who would move heaven and earth for her kids, but as a child, I still felt so desperately lonely, out of place, and starving for connection. As if I lived on the other side of a great, glass wall; never being able to fully interact with the world around me.

That dull ache of emptiness has never subsided.  In fact, dare I say he’s become an old friend. As twisted as it may seem, he’s the one constant in my life. A toxic, rollercoaster ride of a relationship that’s also strangely reliable.

His looming yet comforting presence is always there, sometimes hiding behind moments of contentment or joy, but I know his patterns when he begins to fully emerge once again.

The languid movements, the sinking weight that sits on my chest, the racing thoughts that cradle my mind. Those silent cries at 3 am where your body caves in and you struggle to breathe; rocking ever so slowly, limbs wrapped tightly around your pillow.

I want to run from him, but he’s also the only one that can comfort me.
I can look to him for a way out. He knows all sorts of ways.
There’s solace in knowing that I can escape at any time.
Just follow through with that plan, purchase those tools, find that isolated location.
I’ve researched it enough.

For now, I choose to stay.
But the option to leave is always there.”