I don't know. -7 maybe?
I can't leave my house and can't take a chance on talking to anyone I know about how I feel.
I can't even go out in the YARD because I'm afraid of the neighbors. I have a garden, and a HUGE yard, and a frigging POOL, and I can't go outside because I am afraid of the neighbors.
I wish my husband didn't have to be close to a major metropolitan area for work. I want to go HOME. Back to the country, where all the people around have known me since I was little and anyway they can't see the house.
"Just go outside," he says. "Go get some chips and soda from the store," he says. "Take the kids swimming," he says. "Call mom up on the phone," he says. He doesn't get it. Of course he doesn't get it. He might have had a verbally abusive father, and he might spend all his time trying to stay ahead of the critic in his head, but he's not a FREAK.
I can't live like this. And, even though it's been better and it's been worse, I don't ever remember living any other way.
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"Alas, our dried voices when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar." --TS Eliot, "The Hollow Men"