Woke up, looked at the clock, went back to bed.

Woke up, ignored the clock, went back to bed.

Woke up, looked at the clock, heard my mother shouting in distress, freaked the hell out, body went into panic mode, rushed to the restroom, went downstairs to see if my father was having another episode.

My mom said he wasn't.

I'm not sure if I believe her. She's trying to protect me.

I've gone from being "the strong one" to fragile status.

And I am fragile. I feel like pieces of me have splintered, but due to some miracle, they're still together, waiting for one thing to shift for all the pieces to come out of line and crumble to a pile on the floor.

...and they're shouting again.

My mom rarely shouts.

Christ, there goes my body.

I need that apartment. I need that safe place. I need to get out of here before I am destroyed.

I need to pack, but I'm so afraid of packing and cleaning and getting turned down for that place.

And my body is rebelling against me as it fights panic.

I wish crying in a corner was an option right now.

Instead I'll watch a movie and hope for a distraction, then take a walk in the sun... and then pack.