Journal 2

I feel nauseous. I gagged a couple times for no reason. I hate this feeling cause for me it never leads to anything, so I don't just throw up and get it over with. Instead I wait for it to fade and it feels unsatisfactory. 

It's cold. The few warm pants I own were given to me by a friend and by him. I don't want to wear them because they remind me of how much i miss them. My parents sometimes laugh at me for how little I wear even though it's cold. Even if I'm shaking I'm sturbbon and don't change. 

It's lonely. I wish someone could take care of me. Or I wish I had a neighbor or relative or friend down the street I could go visit. Moving during pandemic times feels like it was such a big mistake. I haven't been outside in so long it feels like the outside is a painting and all that is real is home.

I was thinking about how living in a space gives it identity in our minds. When I think of my neighborhood I think of the few places I frequent, like the store, and not all the places nooks and crannies in between. Those are the places I'd place in my neighborhood. But it's much more than that, down to the individual plants, and the grid that connects all of it. It's interesting to think about how we can all have our own unique spaces in the same place at the same time. Because I've been home for about two weeks now I've begun to lose touch with the outside world. Before that I at least went to the shop sometimes.

My now ex boyfriend's family got sick and that motivated me to take covid safety more seriously. It feels like I'm being responsible, yes, but I'm also noticing bad feelings breeding more readily, and a fear of the outside world developing. I don't like being a shut in. It reminds me of the past. And anyway, my parents still go out on weekends for recreation, and my mom still goes to work. So maybe it doesn't really matter.