don't ask me to move i just want to sit here for a while

I deposited my dear friend Emily safely at the airport, and I didn't even cry like I thought I might. Saying goodbye (even temporarily) to one loved one is hard enough for me, but two in the same span of time is even harder. If Krystal goes anywhere I might have a meltdown.

I have emotions, like leftovers from childhood, about travelling, vacation, leaving, being left, etc. That's why vacation is never just vacation, it's remembering all the trips to New Mexico and back for summers with my dad, it's recalling the difference between vacations with each parent, it's muscle memories of crying on airplanes on the way back from my dad's, crying on the way to my dad's, crying at my dad's. Crying all over the place. Crying because not enough time is too much, and knowing a shorter stay is better, but wishing things were different.

It's about Kansas City. It's about being torn between two homes, crying alone in my car no matter which direction I am going. It's about coming to one home so exhausted and just wanting to rest but having to go around and see everyone who wants to see me. It's about missing my family, missing my friends, missing everything. It is about learning and growing and creating but living with a hole in my heart where the ones I love most should be.

It's all that and more. And that is why I hate vacation, and goodbyes and travelling and why I always feel robbed of time with people I love. Goes back to love starvation, which, I think, is the root of everything, for me, anyway.

No crying today, though. Just a slight tinge of sadness because I want Andrea to be home. She will be soon enough.

houses

So. Mom talked like she might move in with Laura in the future, but that she doesn't want to sell her house. Which means I might get to live in it by my lonesome. Which would be cool. Weird, but cool. I haven't lived alone, ever. I think I can hack it. It'd still be weird.

I always hated it when Jacob was gone in the middle of the night. I hated being alone at night in our first apartment. It was so open and we lived in a sketchy neighborhood. Like the kind where there are homeless people who get the cans out of your trash and prostitutes who set up shop in the alley behind the apartments across the street and there are gigantic drug busts in houses a couple blocks away. Oh, yes. And someone breaks into your friend's apartment and rapes her. Fun stuff like that.

Wow. I haven't thought about that in a really long time. Kansas City is kind of a messed up place. It rubs off on you, a little. Fucked up shit happened there. Stuff that I don't think about too much anymore. Except for late at night when I'm avoiding sleep and homework.

Oh, lordy. I was so unhappy. But not all the time. It's weird. Such mixed emotions. It was amazing. It was awful. I can't separate the experience from either extreme. It was a roller coaster. Makes sense. I have bipolar disorder. Hadn't been diagnosed yet. I was medicated. And in therapy. Cognitive Behavioral. Maybe that is the wrong kind for me. Although, my therapist did teach me about deposits and withdrawals and shopping for groceries that aren't there no matter how many times you look for them. And other things. Thereapeutic things.

I also feel fine about not seeing a therapist right now. The last time I was in therapy I was starving, more like I was allowing myself to be starved. But I changed the situation and got over it and I've been pretty great (with bumps, of course) ever since. I talk about my feelings all the time. With people who give me really good feedback and who are awesome and kind and loving. I feel like a therapist would be superfluous.