The cool night covers you like the chadow of powerful wings. The sky opens up a direct connection to things so far above me that I had forgotten how to access. The hunter is there, the dragon, the bears. Listening.
It is removed enough from the day to allow me to think more clearly and to open my heart and let him in. When I try to pray inside, I feel crippled.
One of the best things about coming home is going out on that loop again. One of the last free places that I can sing and pray out loud and not care who hears what I have to pray.
I miss my Father. I have been running too long. How can I push him this far from me so quickly? I need him to carry me again.
I know that what is bothering me is depression. I don't want to be this way, but changing it feels like changing the fabric I am made of.
I worry that this is another way that I am like my mother. I don't want to be depressed for thirty years.

One of the worst things about coming home is the doubting. I feel like things are secure until I get here. I know who I am, what I am about, and where I am going until I come home. It's like it has become a physical manifestation of reevaluating EVERYTHING. I can't do that. When I come back here, I often feel as though I am spiralling back into the depression and fear and doubt and hatred that consumed my childhood. I am not that child anymore. I don't want to be her, and I have changed.

I need someone to pull me out of the emptiness and into hope again. I can't get there on my own. I just don't know how to ask. Or who.