My parents are currently in the process of losing their home. Since they both have rather limiting health conditions, they asked me to help clear out the house. Basically, I shoved room-fulls of belongings into garbage bags. I threw out tons of old drawings, stuffed animals, clothes, art projects, memories – pretty much my entire childhood went into the dumpster today.
The carpet is yucky because there was a hole in my ceiling that led to a carpet beetle infestation and rain and general grossness.
I’ve been preparing for this moment for awhile. Honestly, the house is destroyed and it hasn’t been my home for a long time. It’s still wells up a lot of emotions to think of what it used to be, though. I think about summers, lying by the window and hearing kids playing outside. I think about massive snowfalls in the backyard and running out barefoot with my brother. I have a lot of fond memories in that house, despite being shoved into a shitty household situation.
Generally, I think it’s better to live with less belongings. All the less to weigh you down when adventuring. Granted, I’m pretty frilly and enjoy clothes and makeup – but I try to pick and choose my belongings carefully and purge whenever I get new things. It keeps me from getting too cluttered. I was stupidly sentimental as a child, though. Everything had meaning. I had so much love in my heart for the people around me and the things they gave me. I had a “memory box” full of old nick-nacks I collected while growing up, but my younger sister destroyed it. Notes from class, doodles and stories with my friends, movie tickets, awards – I salvaged a couple things, but I was trying really hard to let most of it go. I need to remember that the life I’m building now is 1000% better than the life I had as a kid. It’s bitter-sweet.
Maybe there’s a midpoint between holding onto everything and letting everything go. I’m not sure if I’ve found it quite yet. I tend to be an emotionally all-or-nothing type of person. I’m sad my parents are losing the home they raised their kids in. But ultimately, it was their fault for living so recklessly and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I have to let that go, along with all the memories inside that dilapidated house.
I’m thankful to finally feel at home somewhere. My anxiety has leveled off tremendously – I never realized how much it affected me to be around my family’s issues. I’m not constantly worrying about them anymore. I have other things to focus my mind on.
When I came home today, my roommates had this waiting for me.
IT HAS EYES.
It’s the perfect Stoof-sized chair – funnily enough, it really is perfect for when I sit by the windowsill and do my makeup. I don’t know if that’s what they intended it for, but it brought me a lot of joy when I came home from such an emotional day.
I feel at home here. I’m surrounded by people who care about me just enough – not to the point where it’s overwhelming and I implode from being overstimulated. It’s a peaceful feeling that I’m unfamiliar with, but I love it.
I remembered a lot about my past self from going through my old things. I forgot I was valedictorian of my 8th grade class and that I used to have an obsession with penguins an the greek goddess Athena. I think it’s important to remember who you were and where you came from – it makes you all the more proud of who you’ve become.
Here’s some things I found around my old room. I’m sad I didn’t take more pictures of what I found, particularly the penguin collection on my shelf.
Hope this week treats you all well.
PS – yes, that is the OG snail. Circa 2008.