Fall Back

After ten long days away in Italy I was not once homesick for my dad, my home, my dog, my bed, my shower, my car, my hammock, my roof, my computer, or my cute shoes. The source of this uncommonness: Home doesn't make me feel happy. It's a little depressing, but true. Home is where I want to throw up my meals, I don't but where I wish I did. Home is where I work hard for next to nothing. Home is where I don't earn money to become something better. Home is where I don't exercise. Home is where I hate having friends come. Home is where I'm fat. Home is where I cry. Home is where I scream. Home is basically where I feel unimportant, insecure, unhappy, incompetent, unintelligent, and hopeless.