I’ve been back home for a month now. A whole month.
A month of sleep, of time with my cat, and a month of book-reading.
Also a month of anxiety, of regret and of too much time alone. I had the chance to go back. I should have. I couldn’t.
A month is too long for introspection when it’s hard to look at yourself. And I have several more to survive before I can go back.
Emotional well-being is just as important as physical. Yet time and time and time again I forget that and make the stupid, rational choices.
Why did I do this?