I saw a post on Humans of New York Tonight.

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My mother isn’t hooked on heroin. Actually, I’m very lucky to have the mother I have. That wasn’t the part that resonated with me.

“I think I’ve never had to deal with the trauma because things were always coming at me. And now I’m not sure how to handle the quiet.”

I don’t live with my housemates anymore.

I don’t live near Tufts anymore.

I don’t have housemates anymore.

But I still can’t sleep at night.

Maybe it’s the mania creeping up on me.

Maybe it’s the anxiety of thinking I had mice.
(I’m starting to think that I overreacted with that one.)

But I think I just can’t accept temporary safety.

My dad made my house growing up a place I wanted to leave. I’ve had the worst living situations in college. Last semester at Tufts was met with an overly stressed academic environment plus all of the Greek Life and Isreal/Palestine drama plus an Office of Equal Opportunity case.

Now, it’s just me.

The person only person whom I can somewhat trust.

I’m safe now.

But my mind can’t fathom that.

 

 

Note: This is the final post for the Three-Part Unpacking series.

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