Oh dear

I'm watching movies on lifetime and trying not to think too much about not being home.

I'm not sure how I got from not minding being here to hating every second again. And...

I'm reading murder mysteries and they're a little entertaining.

My classes are kinda boring, even though I'm interested in them. Well, I just can't focus. And I don't want to. I just want to go home. If you add together all the people I've met I've got like half a friend. I feel like I'm dragging everyone down.

I'm thinking ridiculous thoughts again. What would it take to get me home? What would it take to get me out of here?

But then, home doesn't really feel like home anymore. I don't really have a place that feels like home and I can't remember the last time I did.

I have a pillow that feels like home. A little. And a teddybear. But I think that's it. Even at home.
I don't really care. I just want to go there.

Or stay in this bed.

I want to crumble. I want to shatter. I want to fall apart. I want to be put together again.