As a child, I wanted to be homeless.
The drawing I kept making over and over again was myself in a cave, in a corner, in a hole, with an umbrella over my head, blankets and pillows and a fire to keep me warm.
I see now that I was seeking freedom, safety and protection. That which I never got at home. Now as an adult, I am still in the same search because I don't know how that looks like. I get into the same patterns and pains, even if my room is cosy. I feel empty because what I needed then was a parent who would make sure I was seen and safe, but now I don't see or protect myself. That is Freud.
I need to get back to reparenting, listening to myself, taking time for my needs entirely, but I am caught up again in the drama. I forgot once more who I am because the core of me has gone to seek refuge in the depths of my subconscious, a place full of traps, labyrinths and song lyrics. All meaningful and harder to solve than any puzzle since they have a hidden symbolic logic based on experiences I don't even remember. There's a reason they have gone to that godforsaken place, it's best if they stay there.
Now being a highly sensitive one, I don't know how much I can trust why those memories were stored away. Anything and everything hurts.
I wonder if waking up with the image of those drawings I made means something too. I wish I had help.