I am fine with where I am now, this home is home, and all that I need...

Sometimes I wake up in the morning from dreams wondering how broken I am.

I wake up, I move around, but I feel like pieces are missing. Like, didn't I used to feel something?

I guess, that is a lie. I still feel. I still care. Still love. But I think for a half a year almost I was open nerves that someone was scraping wire against. Until that whole fiasco I had never felt things so intensely and unfortunately most if not all of it was painful and unhealthy.

I think my emotions are involuntarily putting a lid back on. Bottling themselves up again. Putting themselves away.

This is good though, I think. It means I can balance again.
I don't have to be scared anymore. I don't have to feel so alone.
I can finally be content with something after all of this.
It has been a while.
And it is weirding me out to feel comfortable and safe.

I'm trying to find a good metaphor for it. Better than jars in a basement.
But sometimes I feel like a feral Youngstown house, so it'll have to do.