It was mostly ok. There were some times when i just had to get away, so i would sneak in my bedroom for awhile but no one noticed
Home now, safe and sound in the fortress of of solitude. And I’m so tired, I’m sleeping so much.
I don’t want to leave the apartment, i have a fear something will happen while i am gone. then i’m afraid to come home to find out what the bad thing is / was. i imagine the other residents massed like unruly peasants with pitchforks and they’re angry at a leak, at a fire, at a smell.
of course none of that does happen, and i know it’s irrational but it’s in my head.
so i sleep. is this depression? i do not know. i am accustomed to anxiety, but if this is
depression, that would be new
and i wonder, since 2 of my molesters are dead, the other 2 did not attend= why did i dread it so? is it because i think i was abused by people who were supposed to love me, clearly anyone who claims to love me could be dangerous. that would certainly explain some trust issues.
well, it’s a germ of an idea that i have to think about. it will be such a relief to have something other than suicide to think about