I have bruises all over my arms and legs, but that’s what generally happens in a move. You bump things, carry heavy boxes and get some scrapes too along the way. 4 years I lived in the same place. The longest I’ve ever lived in one place in my entire adult life. I didn’t expect to be here this long, but regardless, its come to an end on almost 4 years to the day.
I’m fighting back tears and I’m sure as I keep typing, they’ll eventually fall because this whole process has been incredibly overwhelming, emotional and stressful. Not to mention humbling. So very humbling. 2 days before actually moving, I cried a lot. I was so overwhelmed by everything still left to be done. Boxes, trash and large amounts of my stuff all strewn over darn near every inch of my floors. I’m a very clean and tidy person and having everything everywhere was more than my brain could handle and I broke down often that day.
I never knew it but hangers are my Achilles heel. My complete undoing. I walked away from packing my many hangers at least 4 times, my brain couldn’t take it anymore. I was left staring at them, just staring at them blankly and eventually would walk away defeated.
They defeated me that day.
The day before the move was a completely different day. It was as if all the trauma and drama of the day before hadn’t even happened. I was functioning, positive and able to make progress little by little. Not to mention conquering the hangers and even taking it in stride when they started fighting back.
Only a few knew I was moving. And many of them, I told mere days before leaving when I’ve known it was coming for weeks. It was hard to talk about. A failure of sorts, though I know I’m not a failure, its still hard not to think so. It got to a point where I had to face the facts. I was looking for jobs everywhere but where I was living, and I had virtually nothing coming in since quitting my job, so why stay in an apartment I couldn’t afford any longer?
I chose to quit my job, I chose to put myself in this situation and I chose to accept my parents offer to stay with them until I found the job that would help me get back on my feet. They didn’t have to do that. They could have ‘taught me a lesson’, and refused to take me in, since this is all my doing, my choice. And I’m thankful to them for not.
I’m not a freeloader. I’ve told myself that over and over again. (I’ve read that sentence over and over again) I’m not. This is only temporary. I believe it. My parents believe it, its only temporary.
It’s still hard. Its going to be hard for them. Its going to be hard for me. Its going to take some adjusting. I’ve been on my own since I was 21. Lived by myself for 6 1/2 of those 11 years. We all have our own way of doing things, so there will be a learning curve for all of us as I get settled in.
Once this all settles, I hope to pick things back up here. I’m hoping so, any way. I have some fun things coming up, so I’m looking to turn my heaviness that’s been lurking here for awhile into a much lighter space.