I’ve been in my new home for a little over a week. I’m mostly moved in – just the odd bits and ends left to gather and bring over from the old place.
I’m simultaneously happier and stressed out like I haven’t been.
I needed this move. For so many reasons, I needed this move. The immediate effects of the move are so obvious it is rather painful.
I don’t wake up panicking anymore.
I don’t feel like there is a weight pressing down on my chest every day.
I don’t feel like the notion of going home twisting my insides like jagged knives burrowing into me.
I don’t feel like I am worthless first and last thing while I’m awake.
Not to say it’s perfect. I am worried about things like making sure I eat every day, and that I’ll have what’s needed at the end of the month. There’s still stress. There’s even still stress from the old place. My grandmother still needs to be taken care of. I still have a responsibility there.
And I have a job now. Which makes my time to do so more limited.
Things are better, but they are also not. But, I suppose that is how life goes.