I stood confused in my bedroom. I didn’t know why I had gone there. Instinct? Habit? Something was out of place, and not being able to place it was creating a growing anxiety. Then I remembered what was missing. My entrance to the bedroom was almost always followed by the slam of the door closing shut behind me and the click of the lock going into place. A routine so familiar that its absence left me unnerved.
I paced back and forth inside the bedroom, as I was prone to do during times I was locked inside the room and unable to sleep. Hours passed. I didn’t leave the bedroom. I couldn’t leave the bedroom. The mental lock as strong as any of the physical one’s mother had installed, and I would need something stronger than a bobby pin to break through it.