There’s a certain purgative quality to having your own space back after cohabiting with someone. If you were lucky you had your “area” to yourself before that person moved in and then to be thrown into a living situation where you see another human being every day, share a bathroom, share chores, food, etc…that can be a real shock.
You get on with it though. After a while it grows on you. The person does too. Seeing as it’s maybe someone you are best friends with and have dated. You get comfortable with the other person being around. At least I did. It was nice. Until I fucked up the friendship and things became awkward to say the least.
Then eventually they leave. You’re by yourself again. It seems all of a sudden too even though you knew it was coming for months. Their furniture is no longer there. Your laundry is piling up because they used to do that because they worked from home. You have to go to the grocery store YOURSELF now because that’s something they did as well. Even though they said they enjoyed doing these things because they were grateful for your caring and sharing nature to give them a place to live for over a year, you still feel…weird. The door to their room is closed now. The dog keeps scratching at it thinking it’s going to open any minute and a fun game of ball throwing will ensue! Joy! Nope, that’s not going to happen anymore.
Suddenly you realize. I HATE change. I didn’t realize what I had when I had it. Do I like my own space? YES! So does everyone else. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, whole families LOVE their own space but don’t get it. Why wouldn’t I love to have my own space?
So I try to turn this sadness of change into something cathartic. I suffer from depression and having someone do EVERYTHING for me for so long, I’ve slipped into lazy mode. For me, dealing with bipolar, depression and anxiety makes change and actually having to do shit seem almost impossible some days.
It’s been about a week now that I’ve been
ostracized left alone by my best friend. I’ve been making a habit though of going to the store and buying enough food for the week to make my hopeless cat lady
Seriously if I don’t I will drop into despair quicker than you can say “This week on Hoarders…” It’s hard. I don’t pretend that it’s easy. Sure I tell my friends that I’m OK, but I’m really not. At least not yet.
I think out of all this rambling what I’m really trying to say is, I miss you being here Bobby. Dexter misses you. I’m really sorry that I fucked up and you felt that the only way to escape with your sanity intact was to move out. I’m really sorry.
Fuck my life.