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Today, I snapped at my mom, and she snapped back. I’ve been really dragging my feet on sorting my stuff, and I didn’t realize why, and now that I understand, I’m not sure if I wanted to.
Because, I had a ROOM.
A room full of things that were MINE.
I had shelves with books that I owned, and a wall with prints that I bought, and sculptures and toys I liked and a dresser with all of my makeup and accessories on it, and there was just… places for me.
And now I’ve come home, and I have to give it all up.
This… isn’t really hyperbolic. I can put… my clothing back into my dresser. Some of my books will fit on my shelf. But the makeup, my accessories and dresses and shoes, those… there’s no place in my room where I can put those. I’ll have to put them away. I won’t be putting out any toys or prints or pictures. There’s no place for me to put my art stuff. I’ve just been using my tablet, and I don’t even have a place to keep it. I’ve just been leaving it on the couch.
And it’s painful. It’s really, really painful to have to go, “Yes, I will pack everything I own into a series of boxes and put it into the garage for several months.”
And there really isn’t any solution. I’ve tried for years, but in the end, the answer is basically, “there is not enough room in this house for me to have things”.
I’m going to just… have to come to terms with that, again.
I think I’ll get drunk tonight, instead.