I Think I Figured It Out.

Why camp feels broken, I mean. After the horrible events of the past week.

Some background:

I have anxiety. Not just like I get nervous sometimes or PMS really bad or some shit. 

I have a generalized anxiety disorder, for which I take medication, in conjunction with a serious panic disorder, for which I do not. I have struggled with these things since I was six years old.

There are days when I am scared of everything, when nothing feels safe, when even the protection of my own eyelids holds no guarantee of comfort. This happens in unfamiliar places, at school, in my house, in my bed. Both in my loved ones' arms and when I am entirely alone.

I was never scared at camp. I feared nothing, I worried about nothing. I never had anxiety or a panic attack within the 1500 acres of forest which made up my childhood sanctuary. Even as an adult staff member, camp and I made one another invincible.

This is no longer true. It has been indisputably proven to me. My safe place is responsible for the death of a child. I hold every branch, every rock, every blade of grass and leaf and seed and step and granule personally accountable. 

My home has betrayed me. This is unforgivable. But now I am more alone than I have ever been.

And I don't know what to do.