P.S. I'm Home (But This Cannot Be Home)
<<2004-11-03 - 1:52 a.m.>>

All those states painted red red red, red for heads full of thoughts I don't understand.

I want to wake up to what, right now, seems impossible. I want to move to Berlin. I want to elide the states I fly over en route from home to school.

I do not understand. And it makes me grumpy and sad and furious and depressed and how can this be and what? How has nothing changed since four years ago? How has no one looked around and changed her mind?

Today was, I think, the first time I wanted to swear off America.

P.S. I'm home, counting exchanges (crossing off circles) and crying in day program every day like clockwork. Filling up the hours. Carrying a rock around in my pocket for Grounding and taking one day at a time and flicking beads back and forth on a bracelet made for me by a friend from inpatient like a rosary of someone-loves-me.

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