Home is Serenity

It's hard to believe I haven't been to a meeting in a whole week.  It's weird, but I don't feel crazy either.  I'm coming home tomorrow, but in a lot of ways, here feels more like home.  I'm a visitor in someone else's home, but this apartment that i've spent probably a total of 10 days in feels more like any place I've lived in years.  Maybe that's why I don't feel crazy yet.  I guess my eating disorder didn't really manifest until I first moved away from home 6 years ago, and it really took over when I isolated myself from human connections.  This isn't even technically my family's home.  They don't even live in the state, but my mom's best friend lives here.  I grew up with her.  She has 2 daughters near my age, and her home has always been my home.  It's such a friendly, welcoming home.  The doors are unlocked.  The kitchen is open.  I can sleep in the spare bedroom, and borrow clothes from any closet.  When I was little, this family was the definition of cool.  I learned what to like based on them: their music, movies, tv shows, words, mannerisms, shampoo!  They always knew exactly what was "in"...but they loved me as if I was part of the family.  Even though I knew I wasn't cool or up-to-date like they never seemed to notice.  I was just me, and that's how they liked me.  It's always been that way, and this week, I came and moved right back in.  I was visiting, and so was my mom, and I got to see all of my best old friends from my childhood.  the very best best friends.  The ones you never lose touch with.  The ones who -no matter how long it's been since the last visit -it seems like you saw them yesterday.  I had no schedule, and practically NOTHING to do.  there was no pressure, but it didn't bother me here.  And I'm not sure why, but having that connection to home and roots is certainly related, and possibly the entire reason.  I think I've been neglecting the importance of having a nice place to live.  I always just choose whatever location is most convenient, and throw my stuff there.  Then it's not pleasant and homey, and that's starting to ware on me.  I guess being here relieved some of the stress of supporting myself as well.  I feel protected - under parental wings - safe, and taken care of.  When I go back to my crummy apartment, I'm on my own.  I guess that's why it's so important for me to build my support group where I live.  It's time to grow roots.