I have just realised something and I am now sitting here in tears. I couldn’t explain to anyone why I want to move house so badly; well I could give some reasons but I couldn’t fully explain it. And suddenly (after a couple of glasses of wine) I find myself in tears because what I said at the very end of the last post is it. It is the reason why I want to move so badly. Because this house is a house of firsts, a house of pain, a house with too many memories keeping me trapped. I need to free myself from it, but actually freeing myself from it might be one of the hardest things I’ll ever do – because it means closure.
It was in this very room I’m sitting in now that I fell both in and out of love. It was in this room that I cried with happiness at the first sight of my engagement ring – it was in this room that I clung to my ex and felt like I had actually seen his soul as I saw the pain in his eyes as we came home from the hospital with our empty arms after losing our baby. It was in this room when I self harmed again for the first time in years. Where I was sectioned under the mental health act. Where my best friend found me dissociated and covered in blood. Where I’ve shot, smoked and snorted drugs to try and detach from the world. Where my relationship ended. The first place we kissed and the last place we screamed.
And I won’t even get started with the memories the bedroom brings…
I am trapped in the past in this flat. There has simply been too much that has happened here and if I am ever to find a future I need a new starting point, one that isn’t tainted but is clean and fresh. It means saying goodbye to the moments of going into my bedroom and just lying on the bed staring at the space where the little swinging crib was, it means saying goodbye to the place I not only began losing my son but also the place I conceived him and got that positive pregnancy test.
That is all in the past though. Leaving this flat will give me a little bit of closure to the pain that I’m reminded of just by looking at something so simple as a patch on a wall, the pain of occasionally opening a drawer innocently and finding a love letter sent from the man I sat in this room waiting on whilst he served in Iraq. The man I was totally dedicated to. That part of my life is over now and has been for three years. My son has been gone for five. I have been in here for six. The only thing that’s been consistent from me first moving in until this present moment is one of my little dogs, he has been there through everything, if only I could have seen myself how he must have seen me sometimes.
I think it will hurt like fuck closing the door on this place, like I said I’m crying just thinking about it, because closure hurts right? I just need to get it into my head that closure doesn’t mean forgetting, it means being able to move on and keep the precious memories in my heart.
And that’s my realisation on why I need to say goodbye to this place and start afresh.
And you know what, for all the people who think I’m fucking crazy when I talk about my voices, well it was Lucifer who helped me realise all of this. He helps me, people might not get that because I do ‘bad things’ as well to make him happy but he also talks so much sense. Lucifer is my ruler and you know what, I’m fucking proud to say that.
Anyway I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, it could take a year or so to get a new place but it’s finally like someone has just switched a lightbulb on and made me realise the core, the pit of my sadness here, rather than just all of the things that in comparison are just an annoyance.