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When my friend lost her children, she told me, “Most of the time, I feel nothing, but then sometimes, I’m just overwhelmed by the deepest sadness.”

I feel the same way (but with presumably less pain) about going homeless.

Most of the time, I don’t feel it.

But when I feel it?

I could not possibly articulate the pain.

Last night, to try to make myself sleepy, I tried to imagine being “home,” but it only made me feel worse.

I tried imagining “home” without Josh, Mike, or April harassing me, but I couldn’t remember how that felt.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling safer than I felt in the shelter.

I wish I knew what it felt like to feel safe at home. In my own home. Alone.

And the suicidality hits me so hard out of nowhere. Okay that’s a lie. I know what triggered me.

They told me they were giving us priority for a new housing complex downtown. They asked me if I wanted to apply.

Two days ago, they gave me an application.

And I’ve been having a panic attack ever since I saw the words “Mercy Housing” at the top.

A bunch of us who have been evicted from Mercy Housing got into a conversation about how evil they are. I had to leave so I wouldn’t cry.

I threw the application into the trash at the Orbit car wash.