I want to write...

about the chaotic darkness of a vigorously swirling mind behind vacant eyes.
The time I walked for hours along the buzzing Silver Lake Rd, within shoes that were not mine, in a long black dress coat borrowed from my sister.
My mind was not my own, as it was occupied by a subset of people, splinters really, fractured personas without a base.
I walked aimlessly; I had no place to live. Whilst residing at a group home, I discovered I was within my right to leave; that my rooming there was voluntary. It took me three months to discover that gem. Yet, no one would take me in.
First I "visited" old friends in Manistee who put me up for the night. I quickly realized I was in trouble as their first questions were, "how's your family?" and "where are you working these days?" I couldn't tell them I left my family, wished them all to rot in a burning, raging hell. I wasn't about to mention my hospitalization and diagnoses, too many questions; too many roads I was unwilling to go down, navigate and pull upsetting answers out of my ass.
I couldn't lie, thus, I remained silent and deflected.
As I lay in the spare bedroom smelling, what I could only surmise as the odor of a family, caring, love, wrapped tightly under a handsewn quilt, staring at the adolescent paintings; the mounted deer antlers on the wall. I overheard words that sent me into a spiral of chills, discomfort and fear..."Is she going to be staying long?", the voice of my friends adult child said.
"I don't know. We have your brothers family arriving day after tomorrow. I'm sure she just here for the night."
Silent tears. I hadn't the courage to express my childish, humble yearnings. I wanted a home, a family and I had picked them; in my head; in my irrational fantasy. I had sought her out hoping that she, my friend, a grandmotherly woman filled with love and compassion, would read my mind, ask no questions and welcome me into her forever home. I was devastated.
The next morn, I quickly dressed, said a few parting words referencing the fact that I would "be expected back" somewhere.
My host, my friend, looked puzzled and relieved. I bade a quick "farewell" and "thanks so much for letting me spend the night", and with a false smile painted on, I left. Downtrodden, I headed back to the AFC home. I had nowhere else to go. I wept. I was not wanted, not missed anywhere. I was alone, adrift, nobody.