Dear Nobody™,

Dear Nobody,

I don't remember exactly when it started-living from couch to couch.

It wasn't one big moment.
Just a slow slide.

One place turned into another.
A few nights here. A week there.
Always temporary.

I told myself it wasn't that bad.
At least I wasn't on the street.

But it never felt like I belonged anywhere.

I was always aware I was a guest.
Always trying not to overstay.
Always wondering when I'd have to leave.

You start to shrink when you live like that.

You keep your things packed.
You try not to take up space.
You try not to be a problem.

But I was a problem.

The drinking. The drugs.
The version of me that showed up when I was using.

I could see it wearing people down.
The looks. The distance.
The unspoken "you can't stay here much longer."

And every time I left, I told myself it would be different at the next place.

It never was.

Eventually, there aren't many couches left.

And you start to realize...
it's not about where you're staying.

It's about what you're running from.

Or what you've become.

I didn't feel like a person anymore.

Just someone passing through.

Carrying everything I owned in bags,
and everything I couldn't deal with inside me.

Looking back now, I think that was one of the loneliest parts of my life.

Not because I was alone-

but because I never felt like I had a place in the world.

Somehow... I made it out of that.

But I still think about that version of me sometimes.

The one who never unpacked.