I give up. I concede.
A night I can finally get to sleep, and I’m startled awake by a bunch of drunk and probably high strangers coming into my house. Barreling in like it’s nothing. Coming upstairs. Things breaking. Glass falling on the floor.
Someone tried repeatedly to get into my bedroom.
I cried. I laid in bed and cried.
Afraid to leave my room. Afraid to leave my bed.
And she has the nerve to call out my name to ask if I came out and took the cat. I can’t even leave my room to piss.
Still, I am laying here, in my own urine, afraid to be in my own place, trying to gather the courage to clean up and leave and go to any place that isn’t here.
I am angry. This situation isn’t right.
I am hopeless. Because I have nowhere else to go.
No safety. No family. No money. No home. No reason.