In the past two months my level of anxiety has increased, my OCD for a perfect space around me has gotten out of hand, and my nights of restless staring at screens or flipping through channels until 5am have become a norm. I almost feel manic.
On one hand I’m feeling like I’m literally in the best head space I’ve ever been in. I’m feeling alive, beautiful, like my life has purpose. I feel like I can take on the world. At work things are going better then ever, at home my kids are behaving and happy.
On the other hand I walk in the door to my home and look around to find a million things wrong with what’s supposed to be my safe haven. The dishes aren’t done, there is a shirt on the floor, there is a book bag on the table, the backyard has water balloons everywhere… 9pm rolls around and I grab my nightly wine and the remote. I read every single storyline for movies on Netflix just to choose some sort of crime or series killer show. This goes on until 1 maybe 2 sometimes until the sun comes up. I fall asleep on the couch. I am not at peace.
Today I realized this is the longest in my adult life that I have felt tied down to a place. I’ve been able to move and move and move. I’ve been evicted, I’ve ran away, I left mid-lease, I’ve been kicked out, I’ve left in hopes to make life as a single parent easier. I don’t like the feeling.
I’ve ran and ran away from the place that was supposed to remind me of a safe place, my “home.” Now I’m feeling conflicted knowing I can’t push my fears of my past on two little people who just want to call something their own, their home.