It turns out, being homeless is pretty unpleasant. Granted, I have access to the amenities of decent shelter, a warm bed, running water, a computer. I don't mean that my plight compares with those who have none of that. Only that, on the other hand, the phrase "going home," for example, has no meaning for me.
That despite having a place to stay, it isn't my place, it's as temporary as possible. I can't call it home, and this turns out to be a difficult piece of my psyche to have gone missing. I don't even have a hometown. There is nowhere in the world where I could arrive on familiar streets, and feel that I am home.
I have nowhere to go. Nowhere that would feel safe and familiar and mine. I am too broken to do anything about it. I'm trying so hard not to get depressed, but this is really depressing. Especially for an agoraphobe like me.