the night we met

I thought last night would be easier for me. I should have known better.

It wasn't a good day but I got through it. I was completely worn out by the time the sun went down, went all the way to LaPlace to get my TV so I could at least have some sound or something and thought I forgot the remotes, but they're in my car, I checked this morning, I just couldn't go down those stairs one more time last night. Going to LaPlace probably wasn't the best idea in hindsight, seeing his life and all of my things missing from it made me feel nauseated. The entire reason I decided to sleep at new apartment was to give him a quiet night. I guess I really need to stick to my convictions.

From the second I left work yesterday at noon, my legs were shaking. I went to the bank, got money orders. Had to talk myself down the whole drive to Sunlake. My legs didn't stop shaking the entire time I signed my lease, didn't stop the entire time she did a final walkthrough of it with me, didn't stop while the AT&T guy was there (and I had been so nervous that I forgot to stop and get myself something to drink, I was dying of thirst after hauling all of that shit up and down the stairs) so by the time he left, I was a nervous, hungry, painfully thirsty wreck. I laid down in the middle of my new apartment (holyshititactuallyhappenedholyfuckithappened) and tried to have that woo-sah moment I always imagined I would have, that the hardest part was over, but it never came. There was no woo-sah. It was just a slow and all consuming panic that I could do nothing about because I had all this shit to carry up three flights of stairs and the last thing I need is to be zonked out on Xanax while carrying something and fall and break my neck. It makes me feel better to know that I may be riddled with anxiety, but I'm not being reckless, and that I have SOME kind of grip on myself, no matter how small.

So I decide that I need to get some food and something to drink so I can cool down. The damn thermostat was set to almost 80 when I got in there, and it's an old building, so it was freaking boiling. So I left the apartment and went to Dollar Tree and got a few things. The entire time I'm in Dollar Tree I am not thinking clearly, and I must have wandered around there for about an hour before I snapped myself out of it and made myself leave. Went to Walmart, got a few more things, got food to last me. I'm surprised that no one called the cops on me in Walmart, I was that frazzled. I could not seem to calm down. I'm staring at those little adhesive sticker things you use to hang stuff on your walls and the loudspeaker is blaring right over me and there are two people arguing around the corner and I almost lost my shit. Over goddamn adhesive stickers. And while I'm freaking out, I'm furious at myself for freaking out, like get a fucking grip, you fucking baby, christ on a tricycle, you're 33 years old, it's not the end of the goddamn world. Shit happens like this all the time. What is wrong with you? You're tougher than this.

I knew I had to get back to the apartment (it's going to be awhile before I call it home) and get off the road, my car was still packed and I was in no state to be driving in the condition that I was in. Got back there and managed to get my groceries upstairs (got myself one of those little handles that can carry a lot of groceries, that saved my ass) but hauling that pack of water upstairs nearly fucking killed me. Went down to get laundry detergent and a few more things, then gave it up. Threw my shit in the washer for work and finally, FINALLY took a bath in my new place. It felt good, but that panic would not go away, so I took a Xanax. My aunt called me, Scott called me, wanting me to go to a game night at Brit and Chewy's tonight and although I've got a shit-ton to do, I think I need to go, but I want to get some things from LaPlace first, so I may just go there late. I'm getting my bed today, which will be a relief. Tomorrow Mom is coming over to help me arrange things and then taking me to look at couches, and then I'm going to attempt to relax Saturday night, but I know me better than that.

I think I may be in some sort of shock, and it's not manifesting well, and I don't like it, and I want it to end, but I'm not getting addicted to Xanax, and with three flights of stairs I'm sure as hell not drinking like I used to, so I guess I just have to figure out another way of dealing, and maybe once everything is in my apartment, it will get a bit better. The apartment itself is very nice, and I hope I'll be happy there, but I can't help but be terrified that I'm going to live in that apartment alone until I'm 45 or something. I'm not usually afraid of being alone, but ten years of habit and routine and safety and all this time assuming I wouldn't have to worry about this, because we were good and I stupidly assumed we always would be. A classic example of the universe spraying liquid through it's nose and going, "Hold my beer." Yeah. Fuck you very much. I keep on wanting to call him up to ask him if we need anything, or what's for dinner, or what are we doing this weekend? I go to do it and then I remember that it's not like that anymore, and then I tell myself that we're doing this for the right reasons, but the right reasons are really really hard to accept. I hope he's having a better time of it than I am.

I couldn't sleep, even though it was close to midnight, I rattled around in my new apartment like a rock in a shoe. I had some of my things but the rest where in a place I used to call home and even if I had all of my things I don't have many places to put them, since I'm holding off on ordering things till I see how much a couch costs. Even now when I'm talking to someone, I will still call LaPlace 'home', and then have to back up and call it 'the condo'. I took another bath around 1am and that seemed to settle my nerves a bit, and the Xanax finally hit me, so I laid down on my new bedset in the dark.

When I opened my eyes this morning, I had a moment of, "Where the fuck am I?"

And then I remembered...this is home now.