Packing makes me feel sad.

I moved back home for the summer.

It’s strange, but even if I am looking forward to leaving the place I am at, packing still makes me feel sad. Maybe it is the realization (or fear) that some things will never be the same again, that all of the moments in that place are gone forever, that certain things are ending, that I must keep moving forward. (I know, I am so melodramatic). And I mean, I know that where I was at (in reference to location, as well as life in general) is not where I want to be forever. But even so, this time around, a large part of me didn’t actually want to leave.

I cried when I was taking the posters off my wall. Somehow things like endings and goodbyes seem to reverberate off the bare surfaces. I will miss my cute, little, yellow room. It was my home for the year. My safe space. A constant. And the place to which my mind tied many good memories.

Today, I wandered around all day feeling kinda lost, not really knowing what was wrong, but feeling that knot in the pit of my stomach nonetheless. The knot you feel when something you can’t quite pin point is off. I suppose it is because everything is different – my room, the house, my routine, my “schedule” of life, the things I look forward to, the people that I see. I feel out of place, and am missing certain people already.

I know I’ll start to settle in in a couple days, but change is hard. It requires an incredible amount of energy. It always has. I guess this time, because I am sick and still running on empty after having struggled through the past couple of crazy weeks, I have none to spare, and so adaptation is coming notably slower than normal.

Tomorrow I start working at the nursing home.