I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home more than the kids who are fine, but less than the kids who go back to nightmares.
I can take care of myself. Sure, there is curfew and authority and all that. I can schedule my days and hang out with whomever I want. The distance between here and my house puts me just beyond the wrath of home’s stresses.
Here, there is no time to worry about whether your art is worthwhile because there is always a place to be and things to see. That worry has been nearly erased from my mind—just faint lines remaining—by the strong, experienced hands of my teachers.
Today I thought I might faint. I went downstairs and took my medication, came back up, and went to bed. I dont think I knew how it felt to have any semblance of control over what I felt until now.
I can’t go back. ♦