My own private prison

I was just at my sister Linda's house and I was just fine, but now that I am home, suddenly I feel sad.

Home has always made me sad, except maybe when I lived with my mom. Home was the place I retreated to, because the pressure of dealing with people was gone, but then I would be sad there alone, and surrounded by mess.

Then, to make it worse, I wouldn't allow myself to leave. I would turn down social opportunities because "I had to get the house cleaned this week- finally." In the period of two years my house might be clean twice, yet I put my life on hold thinking it might actually happen this time. I kept myself here, wouldn't allow myself to go out, as if I created a prison for myself.

Will home ever be a place of refuge? Not sad refuge but happy refuge? I sure hope so. It was getting there for awhile. I am sure I am not too far off.