Everything Stays

There are days where I am convinced that I am a completely healed person. I might have a day where I show a new found emotional strength and keep composed. I haven’t had nearly any of the breakdowns that seemed to have peppered my life before. This new found sense of strength only encourages me some times to keep myself stronger. It does, for the most part, work phenomenally. There are still moments where the anxiety or the depression sneak back in and take over.

In terms of driving I’ve gotten a lot smoother at it. I mean that in the most litteral of senses. I am not as jerking with breaks, gas, or turns. I’ve driven on the highway during the day and even at night. I’ve also conquered my fear of driving while it’s dark by simply doing it more often. I feel accomplished. I’d like to take my license test before the end of this month. I plan on spending time reading the traffic book just to know what they are expecting during the drivers exam, and then I think I will take it towards the 20th of this month.

I have, however, not changed my mind about missing home. In fact it’s just getting worse. It’s something I often think about, more often than I let on, and I let on about it quite a bit. Last night my boyfriend shared a song with me that is originally from a show called Adventure Time. You can watch a Youtube video about the story behind the song too, but I’d rather just share the song.

I heard this song and all I could think about was back home. How I had walked away from everyone and everything I know, and they still continued to change. Even though they are exactly where they were when I left them they changed without me.

It made me tear up. He sat on the bed next to me while the song played and I felt heavy tears just slowly slipping down my cheeks. Heavy with emotion I tried my best to stay composed. All I could think of was how much had changed in the 3 years since I’d moved to Missouri.

My nephew was a Toddler then, now he’s older and can read and write. He’s opinionated and he’s a joker and a ball breaker just like the rest of my family. It makes me feel like I missed so many little changes along the way. I see him for who he is now, but I missed so much in between.

I think of my grandmother, who was still able to walk when I moved out. Now she’s wheelchair bound and hardly able to make it through a sentence with her train of thought intact. She’s lost the definitions of simple words, and can’t even enjoy a meal like she used to. She’s changed so much while I was gone. I missed the progression and the last few moments of clarity for her.

I think of the rest of my family, and how they continue to grow and change. In looks, personality, and emotions. It really shakes me sometimes. I had spent my whole life so aware of all the little nuances in all of them. Now I have no idea. If it’s not big news I don’t think I’d hear about it.

The first time I went back home to visit my family I had a bit of a breakdown. It’s funny how the mind works. You’d think I would have been triggered by seeing someone or something, but that was all fine. I opened the drawer where the silverware is kept, and I noticed the little organizer that held the silverware had been changed. My entire life it was this old brown plastic organizer. My entire life. Shortly after I moved they had replaced it. I’m not sure why, maybe it finally broke or they just wanted to update it after so many years. My reaction was not par for the course though. I was flabbergasted and deeply upset. How could they change that without telling me? Such a trivial change and it deeply effected me.

It took me a while to realize that the feelings were not directly linked to the silverware organizer but rather to what it represented. Even without me there, things there would still change. It sounds like a simple enough notion that wouldn’t shake you to your core. I was so upset and still trying to process my move that I didn’t take it well.

My little brother had taken over my room, which I was strictly against because I’d still had a lot of my personal belongings still in the room, but he didn’t care. In his eyes it was an upgrade. He moved in and took over, started sleeping in my bed and brought all his stuff down into my room.

My bedroom door was a collage of photos. I had printed, cut and taped up hundreds of pictures all over my bedroom door. Photos of friends and I, family and I, coworkers and I spanning decades back. Even a few baby pictures made their way on that door. It was something I’d wanted to do my whole life and had eventually plastered almost the whole door in photos.

In a fit of rage on the first visit home, I ripped all the pictures off the door and shoved them into a shopping bag and threw them in the basement. I remember someone trying to talk me out of it, but I was so furious. I had so many emotions running through me. It wasn’t my room anymore and I didn’t want to leave my memories on the door of someone else’s room. At the time it felt totally justified, but within time I realized that it was simply me being emotionally overwhelmed.

Even my closest friends have changed. Some in appearance, some got married, others got separated. I watch with bated breath as my whole life back home changes and I’m only allowed snapshots into it. My entire neighborhood transitioning from an ethnic slum to a millennial million dollar paradise.

It’s a pain and a constant itch in the back of my head thinking about back home. What I’m missing, what I could help with, what I could be doing. It’s constant and digs deep into my soul. It exhausts me at times because it becomes an all encompassing thought. Everything from what I drink and eat, to what I wear, what I do, who I’m with. It all just becomes a comparison battle.

This little song from an animated show triggered me. My tears fell heavy as I thought of back home, and it was almost auspicious because that very same morning I had confessed my thought to my mother about how badly I miss home.

Unforunately I’m not in a mental, emotional, or financial position to just drop everythign and move back. Although the thought is ever ready I must wait out until things align properly.

I’m caught between the two mindsets of “Why waste time waiting” and “Don’t rush into something you’ll regret.”

Then it makes me realize that my brain is sensitive and my new found emotional strength isn’t a constant yet. That I need to take things slowly and evaluate logically not emotionally.

It’s hard for me to write lately because all I can think about is this juxtaposition that I’m in. It makes me nervous to even write about it because there are people I haven’t discussed my feelings too. I’d hate for them to learn about it from reading my blog…not that I think they do, but anxiety is a real bitch sometimes.

So I’m taking it one day at a time. I’m trying to focus on myself. It’s something I’m not used to still even after 31 years, but I’m getting better at it. Maybe one day everything will make sense again….or maybe just maybe, everyone’s life is constantly filled with feelings like this, and I just need to get used to the itch in the back of my head.

Everything stays
Right where you left it
Everything stays
But it still changes

Ever so slightly
Daily and nightly
In little ways
When everything stays

excerpt from Everything Stays from Adventure Time

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