I'm just heartbroken.

Remember when I told you we found a house in Columbus, and I just *knew* it was for us?

I learned today that it has sold. It's under contract right now and is scheduled to close in January. I've been in and out of tears all day. And I know there are a million other houses out there, there are more fish in the sea, God has a plan, blah blah blah. But I am so very sad. I feel stuck in this forsaken state where I am a fish out of water, I feel resourceless and alone, and just this close to the edge of depression.

And I don't have a safe place to go with my sadness-- no friends down here who are safe, no church, no community. And the family we have down here wants us to stay anyway, so I can't really expect sympathy from them. The holidays are really hard since my parents split, my friends aren't coming after all, I've been sick and then too busy to put up any decorations yet so Christmas just feels like one giant failure, and now this. I don't think I can take one more bit of sad. I feel like I've been crammed into a cardboard box that's too small, and this house was my only straw for air, and now it's gone. I had asked the realtor to contact me if there was interest and perhaps we could consider alternative options to "sell our house, then buy another" -- like renting out our house or something, if time was of the essence. But she did not contact me, and now it's not ours.

And the thing is, it's not about *this* house. It's what the house represented to me -- hope. I just so truly felt that this was for us. I *knew*, like I've known about only a few things ever-- I knew I had to move back to Chicago from Baltimore, I knew Brad was The One, I knew we had to move to Florida, I knew when I saw our house down here that it was the one for us. And I thought I knew about this house. This leaves me doubting what I think I know, leaves me doubting my gut. When that happens, I usually see it as a sign I'm edging toward depression and need to do a little therapy check-up. Only I can't find a good therapist down here. Believe me, I've tried. There are plenty of pastoral counselors or life coaches-- neither of which are what I'm looking for. I just feel resourceless and alone. And sad.

Here it is. RIP, dream.

Now I'm scared God is going to make us stay in Florida. And that just makes me want to wail.