Gate 84 at San Francisco International Airport is labelled Gate 84ABCD. None of the other gates are labelled as such. My cat has not left her carrier, though I’ve opened the top and given her leash room to explore.
Today my feelings are strange and muted. I’m not happy that I’m coming home. I wouldn’t have been happy staying in Taipei. I’m just angry. But apparently not allowed to express anger.
Honestly, I feel sometimes like I’m a teenager who never learned how to grow up. My emotional expression comes from years of watching television and reading books. I am not an aggressive person.
This whole being called a ‘brat’ by my aunt has really gotten to me. It makes me want to run away. It reminds me of all the times my family has let me down.
One reason I came home was to be with family. And if I can’t have their support, what’s the point? Is it manipulative to write this blog post? How sick am I, really? And can I get better?
Before I start to cry sitting at gate 84ABCD, I will leave it here. The bureaucracy of entering a mental health facility still seems miles away, though paranoia wracks my dreams.
I guess I’ll leave it there