movement

I'm currently sitting on my couch surrounded by boxes and blank walls.

It's been over two years.  It still feels like yesterday.

I'm moving a week from today.  It will be my sixth apartment in nine years in Philadelphia. I am alone.

I came into this current space fractured, injured, depleted and hopeless.  Some days, I still feel like that.  I came into this space a haunting of myself because someone who had promised to stay......didn't.  And he never explained.  And he never looked me in the eyes when he said, "I don't love you anymore.  And I've felt that way for a while". 

(I imagine the 90 pounds while soaking wet fake blonde with horse teeth girl from work that's "so cool!" helped that feeling along when god knows what happened in some gross suite in AC where he went a half hour after dropping me off from a medical procedure that involved three nerve blocks and an inability to walk.  No, really. I had to crawl to bed.  I digress.....)

My therapist says this space is full of wounded-ness.  I don't know that that's a word.  But it's true. Sort of.

She says that a new space will promote movement.  It will be a freedom to exist and grow as it won't be constricted.

To that I say, "You ever notice how a space filled with something sometimes feels better than  a space filled with nothing?".

I hid here. I cried here. I stared at the wall for hours here. I had my first ever panic attacks here.  I gained too much weight here.  I started antidepressants here.  I stared into the trees that touched my bedroom windows here.  I was/am alone here. A lot.

I'm scared to leave. I'm sad to leave.

Everything changes. Everyone leaves.

Never have I known that to be true more than I know it in the last two years.

I'm angry a lot. I'm sad a lot.

I don't know how to engage movement.  Movement feels like loss. Always.  

I understand that there stands something to be gained from loss.  There is opportunity within it.

But, I'm really, really tired of feeling loss.

My heart is really empty.  I miss belonging to someone or to someones.  I miss not having friends who became family be a few blocks away.  I miss the little girl of my best friend who I loved and loved me. Loved me plain and simple and pure.  I miss another best friend whose mind is so similar to mine that I feel he's a long lost sibling.  I miss family members that were best friends but who chose a different allegiance.  I miss the time when I believed people tried to really be the best they could be and didn't look into your eyes and tell you they loved you when they didn't.  

Maybe I never believed that.

In a week, I move seven blocks east and six blocks south.  A twenty minute walk. A neighborhood I don't know.  Further isolation in a city where I already feel really alone.

Movement.

I want to stay.