Everything is Foreign
"Maybe the reason I want to live in a van is so I can feel in control of what is foreign from my stable little home pod," I thought to myself earlier today. It's a rainy day, which means I couldn't do the van work I needed to do for today, so what else to do than sit and psychoanalyze myself in hopes of combating my depression? So that's what I did all day, and of course that meant diving into my childhood trauma, wounds, etc. Somewhere along my metacognitive, inner child rabbit hole I came across this thought I've been holding onto for a couple years now: The word "Mom" feels foreign in my throat. When I tell stories about her, and when people ask about her or my family in general, I'm struck with this self-pity that I use that word less frequently than the average person who has a living mother. The word "Mom" has therefore begun to feel more like a tonsil stone than a word when it comes out. ...