call me a gypsy

USA Roadtrip 2 -1

I’m living out of a duffle bag and a laundry basket right now. All of my stuff is scattered.  I’m really no good at being nomadic. I never have been. I’ve always done better in my own space, knowing where everything is. Staying with my dear friend is awesome in a lot of ways. I know I’m not mentally healthy enough to be by myself, really. But I miss my –our–home. I’ve been going to the apartment once a day to feed the cats, grab stuff I need, etc…but it feels so strange. Without my boyfriend, without his stuff, it feels so hollow and empty. It’s truly the saddest feeling.

I have “my” room set up, and it’s nice enough. It feels like some kind of weird and unwelcome vacation. I do love having the company of my friend, but all I really want is my soulmate back. We spent the fourth together, in his hometown. Went to the lake and played in the water. We held each other. I cried. I cry a lot lately. He loves me and I can tell. We tell each other constantly. This is hard for him, too, I know. And I know that he doesn’t want to backslide into old habits. In the meantime my “coping method” is just moment to moment. I hold myself together, even though I feel completely unraveled.

I stopped by at our place on my way home for the cat chores. Then I went to my friend’s place and laid in the yellow bed for an hour after I talked to bf on the phone, just thinking, being, dealing.

I’m back on my meds. It’s going to take time to feel/notice the effects again. I never felt them in the first place. I guess that’s common with antidepressants? Other people noticed, apparently. Who knows. That’s why I stopped. Also, no word from any of the psychiatrists I was referred to. Sad and frustrating that when you really want help and are asking for it, it seems to be out of reach.

Everything that’s going on makes it nearly impossible to focus on things that I need to do–like coursework–and the things that I want to do, like painting. All I do is think, and wait patiently for something to change inside of me.

Have you ever lived out of a suitcase before? Or felt like you didn’t know where you belong? Comment and let me know. xx


2 thoughts on “call me a gypsy

  1. Last year was hard for me—the worst of my life. I liken it to having gone through a divorce. Whenever my thoughts weren’t consumed with work related things I was fighting not to think about Wifey. Now I still feel melancholy about our physical separation but it’s less emotionally gripping. Don’t know what to make of it other than I guess my brain has decided that it can’t continue at that level of distress forever.

    I’ve basically put my life on hold until we’re back together. I haven’t done things that when I look back on the last 18 months I think “I should have saved more money; exercised more; read more books; explored Virginia more; taken on a hobby.” I know that those things make sense for me to have done, but I just feel like “fuck that shit. If I can’t do these things with her, then I don’t want to do them.” And I’ll just wait when I’m back in Georgia.

    This isn’t a good state of mind for me; unhealthy. But I know there’s an imminent end to it, and that’s all that keeps me going. You should realize that there’s an imminent for you too: you will be happy.

    • I hope you are right D. Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel is what’s important. I am quickly learning the challenge of physical separation. I’ve always felt for you and W and can’t wait for you guys to be together and happy again. More than half way now…right?

      And yeah, I need more of a hobby, something more constructive than what I’ve been doing. Being in school isn’t enough.

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