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On Being Homeless

January 12, 2012

I wrote a post a few months back about leaving and my trepidation for what this newest chapter of my life means.

I am upset, but not surprised, that my fears were valid.

Tonight is the first night since before Christmas that I’ve slept in a bed alone. Not that I’m actually sleeping at the moment. Tomorrow might finally hold some hope in it, yet I can’t raise myself out of the funk I’ve slid into. I can’t stop crying, though I’m doing my best to hide it. It feels as if there is no relief in sight.

“Home Sweet Hotel Room” used to be a statement made in jest. At this moment, it isn’t very funny. We have bounced through hotels, paying a night at a time, hoping each day that we will finally find a permanent home. Well, for the next year anyways. Each day has become another heartache, another failed dream. Each night I’ve searched and brainstormed and torn my hair out, hoping, waiting. The panic and dispair are driving me to the depths of darkness that I haven’t seen in a long time.

I can’t remember when the last time I craved to hurt myself was.

They say “home is where the heart is” and I don’t even really want to touch that statement with a ten foot pole. My heart is a devastated wreck. I have no idea what direction to go right now. Some would say that I should get out there and meet people, you know, see what happens. Some would say I need to take some time for me. Hah. I’ve spent a rather substantial amount of time saying “I do what I want” and doing it. Well, sort of. I’ve bounced my share of good, bad and ugly men off hotel room walls, to turn the phrase. I don’t get why people want no-strings-attached sex so much, it’s only temporarily satisfying.

What I wanted for this new year was a home for my family, a fresh start for me and maybe, finally, a chance for a relationship that works. What I have is an almost completely empty bank account, a hotel room until the money runs out and a looming hysterical meltdown. I’m angry because I don’t want to cry anymore, I don’t want to feel lost and broken and unwanted anymore. I also would love to be able to take a full breath, ugh. Yay sinus/upper respiratory infection.

Maybe, hopefully tomorrow I will finally get a new place to call home. Maybe I’ll be able to take a step toward walking away from the man who doesn’t want me enough to say so. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to breathe.

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