My plan is to blog on Sundays because Sunday afternoons are get-yourself-together times for me. I do laundry, prepare food for the week, and create my weekly planner in my journal. But I need to post a little something today, on the last day of June.
A few years ago, it rained every single day of June. That June will always stick out to me because everyone felt stuck. I was forced to stay home because the creek rose over our driveway, the only way off of our land (unless you’re travelling by dirt bike, if you want to get technical). This June is going to stick out to me like that rainy June because this June has been messy. My best friend and I broke up 36 hours before I traveled to Barcelona, Spain, where I had to process the emotions in a foreign country. Changing antidepressants has left me feeling poisoned and sick a lot of the time. My car was wrecked. My apartment was nearly unlivable due to secondhand smoke. I decided to move in with my parents. My depression deepened into unfathomable depths I’d never experienced before. This whole month, I’ve felt like I was looking at the world from the bottom of a deep hole.
July is a fresh start, though. I’m looking forward to time in the mountains and being in two(!) book clubs and meeting with friends and mentors. I’m going to listen to podcasts and read and keep working really hard on my mental health. I’m gonna pet lots of dogs this month, I can just feel it in my bones. Better things are coming!
My boyfriend and I broke up about 3 weeks ago, a long, private story that I’m not going to dissect on the internet. But I’m sitting in the rubble of a different future than I imagined. This is the hardest part of parting ways with someone so vital to your everyday life- realizing how much you’d built around them. I realize now I was using my boyfriend as an excuse to keep myself small because I was afraid of rocking the boat. I was content in a life where I wasn’t happy because I didn’t want to lose him. I only applied to one grad school because it was close and I didn’t want the pressure of long distance again. I didn’t get in. I moved to the city he worked in even though I hate cities and traffic and smog and flat land. He didn’t ask me to do these things, but now I’m left without much to stand on. I was naïve, but now I have to build a new future whether I like it or not.
On a trip to the mountains with my parents last weekend, they suggested I move back in with them rent-free. Saving for my future is a very tempting proposition; I’ve felt very stagnant, living paycheck-to-paycheck with the reality of food and rent and doctor’s visits eating up what I make working at a local paper. My commute would be about the same as from the city, and I’d have flexibility because a year-long lease wouldn’t tie me down. Considering all of this, I did what any self-respecting millennial would do and Googled “moving back in with your parents” and found a fewsurvivalguides. Even this New York Times article defends what media is calling “boomerang kids” because moving back in with your parents for a bit while you save money is a pretty economically sound decision. Okay, Internet, you’ve convinced me. I’m going to move back in with my parents.
Today, I started clearing out my childhood bedroom. A room that hasn’t been cleaned since I moved out at 18 (and let’s be real, I didn’t clean it much before then, either). A room with a dusty bookcase overflowing with books and a dresser with 10 year old cosmetics all along its surface. A room with a twin-sized bed and clothes I’ve had since elementary school. A room I’ll be living in two weekends from now.
I’m so scared to move home. Have I failed? Who knows. What I do know is this house has seen the best and worst of me, and now it’s going to be a resting place for a while until I get my bearings. It’s about time I wiped up the dust. I can’t hang onto the past, so I’m clearing out.