away from home

Airports always make me feel so anonymous,  like I could disappear forever and no one would be the wiser. I annoy myself by clinging to my husband. I used to fly alone all the time, but I really don’t think I could do so now. The panic attacks have become so much more frequent.

I am nervous to see my in-laws. I tried to clean myself up a bit yesterday, lopping off a bunch of my hair (it was down to my ass) and touching up my bangs. I look like someone hacked it off with a pocket knife–really, it’s that bad. I’m not as vain as I was in my 20s, but this makes me self conscious as it is so extreme. Ah, c’est la vie. I cannot go to a regular hair salon; social anxiety makes it impossible to keep up the idle chit-chat that the hairdresser expects you to indulge her in.

California, the place of dreams. I’m only there a couple of days and my expectations may be too grandiose but I have been feeling suffocated in Olympia, where every little aspect of my life reminds me of Molly. I need this break.

Airport selfie:


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