3 years, 3 months later, the apartment I attempted to grow into an adult in is gone.
I had a bed in an apartment all to my own. I chose when to leave it. who to invite to it. how to behave in it. how to live in it.
I did a lot of growing up in that tiny little apartment. I fell in love in that apartment. I made mistakes in that apartment. I braved it out on my own for the first time. I learned how to rely on myself. I (began) to learn how to trust myself. And above all else, I finally began to realize my priorities in life.
Every time I opened the door and walked in, I felt safe because it was mine.
But now my bubble has began to burst and I have to rebuild it. And all the things that used to make me feel strong are bringing me to tears, because nothing seems real anymore. I dont have my own bed. I don’t have my own closet. My life is strewn about between 3 separate locations.
I’m homeless. but, not, because I have amazing people in my life helping me get my shit together. but I feel helpless and insecure and i’m nervous with every step i take because I don’t want to upset anyone or make things worse or lose someone who is helping me maintain any ounce of sanity i have left.
I have worked hard for 25 years to become independent and created a false sense of self reliance. I will spend the next couple months learning how to let people help me, and accept that sometimes, your life looks nothing like you imagined. And that this is ok. And maybe, its actually better.
