Saying goodbye

I've been searching for a new apartment ever since I got back from Australia. The search has been heavy on my mind and heart. Being without a place to call my own has affected me more than I thought it would. I have been feeling lost and unable to start anything of any substance. It has been like I don't have a safe haven, a place I can sit with myself and think, and I hate it.

I have called about 30 people about apartments, and heard back from 2. It has been increasingly frustrating.

I was talking with my counselor about how much this is stressing me out, she asked if I had mourned the loss of my old apartment. When I instantly dissolved into a puddle of tears upon hearing the question, I knew that I hadn't.

When I left for Australia, I was in such a rush packing, cleaning, working, and organizing, I never was able to really say goodbye to the place. I knew that it would catch up to me sometime. And boy, did it ever.

I know that to some people, the space where they live is not really important. It is just an object in the world, and doesn't have any direct affect on their emotional state. But that particular apartment was special to me.

When I decided to move into that apartment, I was in the midst of some dark times in my life. I had been living in a crappy place on the first floor of a house. The bedroom was small, so my bed was in the living room. The bathroom only had a shower, no bathtub. It was basically a large dorm room, with no real furniture or decor. I had just been through a rough breakup, and in the process of dealing with the aftermath, alienated many of the people I called my friends at the time. I felt stagnant and miserable and just plain cranky. My upstairs neighbors had taken to playing Metallica at about 9am on Saturdays and then stomping about and yelling during the rest of the day. I hated where I lived and I hated how miserable I was. Eventually, I realized that I had to do something with my days other than sitting alone in my glorified dorm room, chain smoking and playing video games. So, I started taking an exercise class, I got involved in some new activities and started to make new (and quite fabulous) friends.

Also, I moved. The apartment had a real bedroom, a bathtub, a dishwasher, and it was the kind of place I could bring friends to. I moved in practically by myself. I was still really angry and good at alienation, so not too many people were volunteering to help me out. But, slowly, I built a new, better life there. I loved it. That apartment was part of my journey out of misery. I really loved it, and the years I spent there were great. That apartment was a haven for me, a place where my life transitioned from feeling bitter, lonely, unloved and unhealthy to feeling happy, social, well-liked, and healthy. I went from having very few people help move me in, to having a well organized network of many people help me and my stressed self move out.



This is one of the only pictures I have of the place. I will always remember that apartment. Good bye, old friend.

Next weekend I move into a new place. This place will be where I spend my last year of graduate school, where I write my thesis, search for jobs, and wear extra layers in the winter since heat is not included in rent. I move in next weekend, and I can't wait!