Home is Where Your Heart Is

It's dark, musty, and damp. Upstairs the sound of loud pop music filters through the ceiling. I can hear people talking and laughing. Everyone is drinking and most of them are drunk. At this point I am intoxicated myself. What I just heard sent me running scared into the basement. It's a dark corner and I'm crying. Huddled into a ball and sobbing like a child, rocking myself for comfort. I feel so hurt, so betrayed. Could what I have just heard be true?

Minutes earlier he was in the bathroom with a very attractive woman. They were in the bathroom, a loud clang, and then muffled giggling. What is happening? My mind immediately kicks into overdrive. Am I just being insecure and am I too drunk to analyze this situation correctly? The answer is yes, and yes.

Crying and crying, feeling foolish and asking to simply go home. I want to go home. Someone finds me in the corner and asks if I'm ok. No, I'm not ok. This isn't the life I wanted. What am I doing? Who are these people anyway? "I want to go home." He tells me I am home. He thinks I must be too drunk to realize where I am. I'm not. I just want my safe place. I call it home. I have no idea where home is, but I want to go there....

The sad truth is I've never had a safe place. Until now. I am finally home. And I love it here.