There used to me more of me.

There used to be more things that I did, more places that I used to go. I remember what a movie theater looks like, what it feels like to be surrounded by the story on the screen.

I remember dates with the Hubby. I remember long drives, one of our favorite things to do. We’ve wasted many tanks of gas on the back roads with the window’s rolled down and the radio blaring country music.

I remember going out on Saturday and not having to rush home because I can feel an attack coming on. We used to go from store to store because we didn’t want to be at home.

I remember being able to go out to our friends house and not be worried about having to leave suddenly.

Now I am a home body.

And some days I HATE it.

There are a limited number of pictures on my wall. And I’m sick of looking at them. We have a limited number of television channels and there is never anything on. I spend my weekends on my couch mostly, in safe proximity to the bathroom with the Hubby on the couch next to me with his laptop and the kid playing on the floor. Or we go to places that are close. The mall, Target, Toys R’ Us, Super Walmart, and my favorite store Barnes N Noble all fall outside the safety zone. I miss them.

I used to go out. But one too many “Oh shit where’s the bathroom??” situations has made me really hesitant to leave the house.

That has to change.