Home? Definately not yet.


Nope, not really here yet. I just can’t seem to ground myself here. It all feels foreign, yet vaguely familiar. Home, but not home. Maybe it feels foreign because my heart just hasn’t gotten here yet. If you asked me where it is, I don’t think I could actually tell you. Granted this has been an exceptionally tough couple days. I cannot really remember most homecomings. Just a handful stand out. One time my mom and partner did a beautiful job with the house. It looked a bit like a magazine shoot. Talk about feeling foreign (yet it felt better than now). But the other times are just a blur. When did my life become such a haze? I just can’t seem to fucking remember anything. I would love to sit here and write about each time I came home, to be able to compare them. Looking at them individually might help me see a pattern. For all I know this is normal? god only knows what that means. Needless to say I don’t have any idea how difficult this was 2 years ago. Post ECT I have no idea what it was, or wasn’t. I guess it really doesn’t matter. I have to figure out a way to settle now. The past is useless. I went to polo last night in hopes of doing something in my normal routine. It was awkward just falling back into step, like nothing had happened. Thankfully, they are a good group of people. Most know me, some know more than others. It was a low-key polo evening. Most people were not present, so it was just a group of the regulars. These are the folks I feel most at home with. We are an odd little family of sorts. We all use polo to escape the stress of our lives. We all enjoy the speed. I’m sure they jones for it just the way I do. Last night was a fun, quick physical night. We played hard, and had more than a few laughs. It took me a while to get my head in it, but once I did I actually played well. We all root for each other, and there is much hooting and hollering when someone hits a good shot, or some ribbing when one of us screws up. It tends to be a great environment. Last night was one of the best evenings I can remember. Not so much because of the play, or the group, but because of the escape it gave me. I was able to rebound from saying goodbye to our old dog. It could have been an extremely bad night. I could have returned home to silence and loss. Instead I was with my polo family, being silly and chasing a little white ball. It took a while to cool out the ponies. I sat and let the day sink in. It seemed like there was so much wrong outside that barn door. If only I could hide. If I could not go home, maybe it would be okay. I got in the truck and sat in the driveway. Minutes ticked off the clock. I didn’t move. More minutes, more stillness. The adrenaline was finally dropping to a more reasonable level and I was starving. I drove far enough to get some food and again fell into a still miserable state. Every ounce of me fighting the impulse to take flight. If I didn’t move, I’d be able to suppress the desperate need to drive away into the night. I didn’t know where. I just knew it would be in the opposite direction. I understood if I allowed even a small motion toward the truck would lead to many miles. I remember this feeling well. It has visited before. I have submitted to its draw. There is nothing positive that comes of it. All it does is quell the destructive impulses and negative emotions for a brief period. The upset, and anxiety it causes to the people close to me make it a poor choice. I knew that sitting there. I knew in my heart I could not run. The sadness and sorrow of the past days slipped in and rapidly all the positive aspects of the evening with my polo family evaporated. There I sat, alone, crying and thinking a bit too hard. I had to move, since that wasn’t helping matters either. I texted my partner, and tried to put words to the tug of war going on in my head. She didn’t understand, and was quickly getting worried. I told her I would be home soon. I drove home lost in a fog of deep emotions. I could not pick out one from the other, nor could I tell you much about the trip home. I walked into the house and took my drugs like I do every night. I ran a bath and hoped the seroquel would calm the storm. My partner was up in the barn, so I had some quiet moments to regroup, and try to sort out the emotions. I knew I had to give her some explanation for the odd text, and the weird behavior. So there I sat, my headache abated and I began to relax. A while later she returned from the barn and we had some quiet time to talk. It started halting and awkward. I just could not quite get myself to find the words. She didn’t understand, and I could sense her frustration. I reached out, just a single outstretched finger. Without a word. There was no question, and no request. with no hesitation her fingertip met mine. there we were in the small steamy bathroom. Myself propped crookedly in the too small tub and she sitting beside me on the toilet. In that silence we connected. Our hearts reached out across our entwined fingertips. There was no need to speak in those moments that passed. I found some courage in that and tried again to explain. I know she still did not understand it, but she understood the depth of my pain and confusion. She could not understand why they let me out. I told her it isn’t the same, there is no stress there. I said I could not just stay locked away indefinitely. I had to come home. We both agreed it was just a terrible day. the loss of our beloved old dog wasn’t helping either of us. We sat in silence for a moment, never pulling away our fingers. She looked at me “If this is what this place is going to do to you than we should just sell it- get rid of it”. There it was, out there in the open. She was giving me an out, with her heart. She loved me enough to set me free. I felt it in my heart. I told her I wasn’t even sure a different place would have made a difference. I, with great love and care, was not willing to let go, for fear of hurting her. We love each other, far more than either of us ever admits. There in the bathroom, with only our fingertips we reaffirmed our love. Sadly, we remain in the same bind. There are no answers, only more questions. I do not know if staying here and avoiding hurting her only harms us both in the long run. Or do I take the offer of getting out and harm her in the short run? Neither seems acceptable. It only contributes to the feeling of chaos and confusion.
Home just isn’t home when the questions far outnumber the answers, but I have her, there is hope I can find my way back. There is love here, waiting, if just let it in.


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