Yowzer! Three months since an update. I’m not even sure what happened. Shit got a little crazy, I guess. I was working 3 jobs, so something had to give, and I suppose this was what had to go. However, the incessant emails from squarespace about how my membership is about to renew, I thought I better make the most of the $203 I’m about to fork out. That also means it’s been one year of having a blog, how absurd!
So I’ve since stepped up into a higher position at work, had to let another job go and moved house! It’s been pretty wild, and the term I kept hearing was “exciting”, but it was anything but. I have never really moved house before, I’ve mostly lived in the same house for 25 years. I lived with my dad for a few years, but I always had two rooms, clothes and furniture at both houses. So when it was time to move into my Dad’s after a domestic violence incident, there wasn’t anything to move except myself. This year’s move was only marginally less traumatic, again my mum has decided that my brother should return to the family home, against all good advice.
We had a few weeks to find a place, move everything we own and start fresh. The ‘starting fresh’ is what everyone was excited about, everyone likes the idea of getting rid of things they don’t need, buying new couches and hanging pictures. For me, the last thing I was feeling was fresh - old wounds were cracked wide open. The feelings of not belonging anywhere flooded back, and to be honest they haven’t really left. It made me realise that I’ve never felt like I’ve had a place to really call home, somewhere where I felt safe, comfortable and relaxed. This isn’t one of the many feelings I’ve developed through misinterpreting situations, I’ve literally been told that nobody wanted me when I was growing up. Lin-Manuel Miranda, the creator of the musical Hamilton says “that makes a great writer – feeling a little out of place everywhere”, maybe he’s right. Hearing this statement was what spurred me to write down some of these feelings as a way of working through them.
There’s a million quotes about change being scary, but what if its more complex than that? I’m here to say that change can stir up any and every feeling under the sun, and that’s okay. Gordon had to squeeze even an ounce of enthusiasm out of me as we shopped for furniture, appliances and cutlery, but I couldn’t summon it. I don’t place any importance on my surroundings, probably due to years of blocking them out. For the past 15 years, I’ve lived solely inside my own head. When I was seeing a professional to unpack my ongoing issues, I asked her why I cried when I finally got rid of my iPod. She asked me how many times I had put my headphones in to escape everything else? Like a child, I had created my own teddy, my own place of comfort wherever I went, but instead of a blanket or dummy, it was an iPod. I think every angsty teenager can relate to this in some capacity, we all had some all-consuming hobby that allowed us to ignore everything else. I still don't notice the little things other people do, like a new painting or the print on the curtains, and I'm still undecided if these things are important.
Six weeks after moving in we still have a room full of unpacked boxes, our brand new couches have sheets over them to stop Toby scratching and there are bullet journal supplies strewn everywhere. It’s nothing like the pinterest boards we saved, but I’m okay with that. I’ve got my list of cat-safe house plants to purchase, once I’ve proven I can keep more than one succulent alive (it feels like spinning plates). I now know that there aren’t any things I can buy to make something feel more like home, it’s just something I’m going to have to work on – opening myself more to the outside world.
I’ll keep y’all posted.