Run for the hills, I guess. At least, that has always been my solution.
Right or wrong, whenever things get seriously hinky, I take off. Which becomes truly uncomfortable when you don't actually have a "somewhere" to go to. And, really, at this day and age, most of us don't. Have somewhere to go to, that is. Not because we don't belong, or because we came out of nowhere, but mostly because we are by now so far removed from the original "somewhere", but have not yet found (or founded, as the case may be) our own, true "somewhere", that we often find ourselves at a loss.
I have this impulse now. It is not new and, believe me, I know it quite well. Every so often something happens and I feel the need to run away. To run home. To hide. To find a safe place and curl into a little ball where no-one can hurt me.
And that's all fine and good; except when it's not, that is.
I still want to run. To assess my independence by going home (wherever that might be), by running away to the one place I can claim as my own, by escaping and finding the safe spot to hide, to curl into a little ball, to feel safe.
But what if there isn't such a place?