My home does not feel like a prison. It doesn’t feel like a coffin both because I am not dead and because I cannot afford to line the walls with silk sheets. I love my home. I also love swimming, but if something was standing at the edge of the pool and kept me from getting out of the water, even being a place I love can’t keep me from feeling trapped.
Anxiety is weird because, to someone who doesn’t share the same anxieties, it probably would look like I get nervous for no discernible reason. But usually I can figure out the reason. People exist, and today they were existing right outside the door and on the little patch of grass and while cooking and eating and having a happy night and all this… probably looks ridiculous. But it’s hard to come out into a world when you’ve constantly…
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CrapPile 