I want to go home.

Not as in "I want to go back to France".

As in "I want to find myself in a safe and cozy place".

Even though I actually am in a safe and cozy place.

My instinctive reaction to trouble is to run from it to a safe and cozy place (which my minds translates into "I want to go home") where to hide and regain composure before facing it. Preferably long enough that said trouble has faded away, which can happen with problems such as social gatherings, but are highly unlikely with most other issues.

This is something I started experiencing when I was 13 and that this guy was making phone pranks at me (calling on my family home phone, right, because we did not have cell phones back then, remember), which for some odd teenage reason I did not want to tell my mom, until I found myself uttering at her, standing in the middle of the very living room of our very own apartment (well not so very own because I was technically too young to own anything and it was rented), that I wanted to go home.

So I am familiar with it.

I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

And this is not good.