I'm not happy in my home.
I'm struggling with interpersonal relationships.
My work is too much worry and not enough reward.
I don't like the number that's attached to my next birthday.
I know I have so many blessings in my life and I'm grateful for them, but this space I'm in right now is a heavy one.
Watching what's going on around me, I'm coming to the realization that even if I met a great guy, it wouldn't be the dream I'm hoping for. And even meeting a great guy and falling in love would only distract me from filling that something other in my life that's missing.
I know it took me a couple of weeks to feel settled at my parents' place, so maybe it'll take a couple of weeks to feel settled here. And maybe once I feel more at home, or even slightly at home, I'll feel better.
This move has unsettled me in a lot of ways. It's been four months since I was first told I had to move out. A long four months. Lots of adjustment for a worrier who doesn't like change.
And lots of moments where I ended up doing everything myself. Struggling, planning, doing. Myself. And I never imagined I'd be here. So very single. Surrounded by people who aren't single, and so don't remember that you have no one to turn to. No one to ask for help, support, hugs. No one to share the worry with.
No shoulder to cry on.
So I'm not in a good space. And it's the wrong time of year to be feeling like this. Christmas is always hard for me. Even Valentine's day isn't quite as powerfully about family and togetherness as this season.
Everyone curls in to their husband, their children, their grandchildren, their nucleus and celebrates all the intimacy. And all I can do is sit and watch from the outside. Always on the outside.
So I have to find that other. That whatever it is that's missing. Something I can pour myself into. Something I can curl into and live from.
I have to keep moving through this space. There must be an end to feeling like this.