So after years of waiting my name finally moved up on the list for a room in a halfway house. It's halfway to nowhere but halfway off the streets. It's not all what I expected or imagined.
One thing I found out is how exhausted I am. Having a space where I can fully collapse found me free-falling to the point where I could hardly move without seeming like pushing boulders. I've had flashes of this before in stolen moments when I was able to stop running. But now I see the true depths of my condition.
Something's eating on me so badly (Emily) I'm moaning in the night as demons come out with their pitchforks. Another consequence of allowing my guard to be down. I have to be careful no one in the other rooms hears me. It's like home all over again.
Where does this lead to? I've never had to face that question in the thousands of days and nights I spent on the run. Seems I imagined some sort of paradise awaiting me if only I could get off the streets. But the freedom of the streets is its own sort of sanctuary from the ties that bind and maim. Maybe I'm trying to have the best of both worlds here. Or maybe I'm just caught someplace in between.
There's still some adjusting to do so more to come. I can't write while I'm in that place, only scribble here on the street. With all the bad decisions and extreme cowardice I've shown in my life, I feel more bad news awaits me as I finally have the time and space to face myself. Everything has a catch.
UPDATE: I'm drowning and can't reach the surface. The more I settle in the more I face how lost I am. Life on the run is hell but at least you can lie to yourself how good things could be if you had a safe place. I got my wish, now I want to die.
