Another Friday and a new video! Transcript below. Enjoy : )
I have moved so many times since the age of 18 that I have almost lost count of where I have been. So many apartments and boxes and money drained to get from point A to point B. At first, I was hoping for a fresh start. But then I quickly realized no matter where you go, there you are.
I was still exactly who I was from whence I came, but now was alone somewhere unknown.
I was young and desperate.
I have learned a lot of hard lessons in my 34 years. And I expect to learn quite a fair few more.
My apartment now having been restricted to it for so many months on end has become a safe haven as much as a curse, because quite frankly there are many days where I am plain, afraid to leave it. Agoraphobia anyone?
And honestly like I need any more phobias or quirks to tack on to the already EXTENSIVE LIST.
Simple errands, a I’ve mentioned, have at times become mentally exhausting because I have spent so little time with anyone else. And though I have escaped for jaunts here and there, I always return to the solitary space. To my own thoughts and the sound of unending silence.
I love my family deeply, but that does not mean that that love doesn’t come with complications. With communication issues. With the ability to remain calm at all times when you have lived a certain way and your parents have an unyielding routine. After being home a total of 1 day, I began to panic. Two years away and yet it felt like I had never left. Everything was exactly how it was and not at all.
This trip is not just about reuniting. Well, it is, but it’s not the overall theme. There are difficult conversations to be had. There is dealing with an elephant that has gotten far too cozy in the room, and there is my overall anxiety and depression to contend with. I suddenly felt 2 months was far too long to be here. To not have the quiet I am now accustomed to, to not have a private space to sift through my emotions when I feel too out of control. But then last night as my parents and I sat on the sofa watching tv, laughing, I calmed ever so slightly.
I have traveled a good portion of the world on my own. I have time and again started over- on my own. I have proven over and over that, I can push forward- on. my. own.
I am my own home.
That thought, saying it out loud, or under my breath, brings me immense comfort. But sometimes when you are in the thick of it, is hard to remember this one, incredibly true fact.
I AM MY OWN HOME.
No matter what these next two months bring I need to remind myself of this truth, a truth my mind tries desperately to bury.
So I have taken these first few days slow. Funny movies and tea with my ma have allowed me to settle in gently. Or as gently as I can. The jet lag still lingers and I have no doubt that the time will actually fly by and by the time it’s time to leave I’ll be unable to say goodbye. That’s how it normally goes.
But then I remember, I am my one home.
And I am immensely grateful to be here with the ones I love.
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