I’m really starting to wonder if all of this is worth it. I’d like to run away (as white hipster as that sounds.) I want to run far, far away from this little hole in the ground, but as my husband and I decorate, it becomes more and more evident that I’m probably never going to leave this place.
Why am I stuck in this constant state of fight or flight? It can’t be my depression. My depression makes me stay put, sulking in bed until I have to pee and even then, it’s debateable when I’ll get up. I just want to run far away and never come back. My sense of adventure is bugging at me and every time I mention running away, my husband says no.
It’s seemingly everyday we have this conversation:
Me: “Let’s live in a van and see the world.”
Him: “That’s stupid. I don’t wanna be homeless.”
I tell him that home is where your heart is, and everywhere he dwells is my home. He brushes me off. A new day starts.
I wonder if my love for him is strong enough to combat this; it should be. I hope we work something out soon.
