The last time I felt that I belonged anywhere or to anything was in 1998. I belonged to a church and felt unconflicted about my involvement; I served on several ministries out of a sense of belonging to that group of people, not out of duty.

I lived in a house with three other women on a tree-lined street, and was able to shape my heart against the rhythm of that house, and had the company of like-minded people, but the autonomy of one who lives alone.

In 1998 I participated in a Bible Study with a group of spiritually sophisticated women who pored over the scriptures and who asked challenging questions, not feeling that we needed to fit into the stereotypical mold of a “women’s group,” sitting around discussing recipes and beauty tips. I experienced God more deeply because of their collective presence in my life.

I had a vision for all of these areas of my life, and a sense of purpose for my place in each of these spheres. I was a contributing member with a specific function. And for the most part, in 1998, I was untroubled by romantic angst. I only had a very pitiful crush on someone I am still convinced I drummed up out of boredom.

My life since that time has been characterized by a pervasive feeling of being out of synch, going against the grain of my desires, and never being able to freely pursue what’s in my heart. I feel held up.

Part of what coming back to Baltimore was supposed to be about was coming back home free of that confusion, free of obligations to anything not what I should be doing. It was to be my fresh start.

I wanted to find a church where I could give my heart and my time to the other members; I wanted to start cooking again; I wanted to bake bread; I wanted to be awakened by the warmth of the sun on my face on Saturday mornings; I didn’t want to hemmed in or cramped. I wanted to live my life like a Dixie Chicks song; I wanted to cultivate charm, read more, write again, write at all.

At the end of the year, I will be starting my life again, hopefully in a new apartment, with only myself for company. I never want to shape myself against another person’s concept of me, or against another person’s life. I feel panicked and smothered and terrified that if I can’t get this solitude that I need, that I am going to implode.

I feel confused because I don’t have the room to make a move without being asked what I’m doing or what I’m thinking, or without being asked a question. My throat is constricting from having to share my airflow. My back is aching. My stomach is growling. My head is pounding. If I can’t get what I need, I’m going to run, and no one will ever hear from me again. That’s how this feels.