I always cry, and I always keep repeating "I want to go home, I wish I was home, I just want to go home" and every single time, I'm in my own bed, at 'home' but I don't have one of those, not in the physical sense, I never have, not since he ruined it. Every single time I cry, I want to go home, and my home are people I'm not even sure love me, not that they don't love me, they say it, and show it so much, I just can't accept that it's not a lie, that every time they say it, or show it, or hug me, or do anything, that's it not out of pity, or out of need, I can't accept that I'm not just an asshole that everyone just lets exist in their lives because they don't have a valid enough reason to ditch me. Home isn't real, it's never safe, it's never there, not cause it's not a thing that exists, but because every 'home' I think of, reminds me of the home I was supposed to have since I was a kid, that hasn't been a home since before I can remember, is it so bad to crave safety without harm?