Love, Anonymous

My body aches and boxes are strewn about as if wicked wind blew through.

It’s the third day in my new apartment. My apartment. We made it. Everything is okay.

Of course, my monthly visitor is here so I’m feeling over and underwhelmed at the same time. Yesterday morning I was smiling behind a mask while I scrubbed mold out of my toilet’s tank and now I’m sobbing and this tiny apartment feels too empty, even while filled with my belongings. It’s not a home yet. I’m already so tired. I know it will take time but I feel so wildly out of my element that it feels impossible. I knew it would be a process. I knew I would feel uncomfortable until I adjust… I just wish I wasn’t alone.

I know, that’s the whole point. Being alone. It IS what I want but it’s hard when you’ve been alone but not alone for your entire life. Never alone in space but always alone in the galaxy that is your brain. Floating and spinning, sometimes breathtaking but other times dooming. I feel the youngest I’ve ever been while being the oldest and nothing feels more terrifying and humiliating.

When I cannot stop crying, I eat pickles. I like pickles in general but my favorite pickles are the Grillo’s Pickles – the spears (classic dill, duh). They’re fresher and more vinegar-y than your classic off-the shelf dyed pickles. They’re so delicious, and the taste helps me focus on something that isn’t my panic depressive state. These pickles once helped me talk through a breakup without hyperventilating. I highly recommend if you’re a pickle enjoyer.

I’ll say this here so I’m promising someone, to hold myself accountable:

I will eat a real dinner and not just a pickle and a dr. pepper.
I will shower tonight to at least wash my body.
I will get through this and find myself.

You can too. I’m proud of you.

Love, Anonymous.