Chapter

I find myself again with the apple core. Alone. Empty walls. Empty little apartment.

Sweet memories, even in this tiny place. Here I had many nights by myself. Many nights where I made myself ramen or chicken and rice, scooted my sofa up next to my two-hour-log fire, and read my kindle until I couldn't keep my eyes open. Many nights where I'd cry and wonder why it all had to be so hard.. why 1 + 1 couldn't just = 2. Why life had to be more like one of those long complicated word problems. Why I had to work so many hours, so hard and still come up so short. Many nights where my only comfort was my clumsy puppy and cuddly kitty.

I'd come home every day to a mess to clean up courtesy of my Iris. And a meowing Booster begging for food and attention. In my tiredness and frustration I'd wonder why I had either of them at all. But it seemed to be the nights that reminded me that I needed them more than they needed me. I did a lot of searching here in this little place. A lot of growing and sharing. But mostly searching. "Aren't you tired of the searching?" they say. I'm tired in general. But I'd rather be searching than pretend that I know.

It's been a lump in my throat. It's been mascara smeared. It's been watching my efforts, my heart and all that I have to give being drained. Puddles on the floor. No one will fight for me. Not even me. When did I forget to fight for myself? And actually.. did I ever know how? Have I ever blocked a strike? You know.. I think someone forgot to teach me how to hold my arms in front of my face. Or maybe I wasn't paying attention when they demonstrated that part. Come to think of it.. I'm pretty sure I always let the other player win. Like a forfeit, from the beginning. I never fought at all. For fear that my victory would become a disappointment for someone else. Fear of losing.. for anyone but me. But I've grown to realize that I am part of this. If I don't fight, who will fight for me? If I'm not blocking and striking with all that I have, why am I in the ring? I have to fight. I have to fight or step out. No more holding back for fear of others' disappointment. No more hands tied behind my back for fear of what they might do. No more forfeiting. I will fight. For me.

And every chapter comes to an end. "Home is now behind you, the world is ahead." Home has lost its definition for me. I've made a new one. (I've been doing a lot of that lately.) Home is not a place. It's not a person. It's not a feeling. It's within myself. It's a choice. It's peace. Which some say is a feeling. But I say it's home. Some of my darkest days have been here. Times where I felt no hope. Moments where crying didn't seem to help, but I couldn't think of anything better to do. Nights where the darkness of my bedroom wasn't dark enough. And the silence was too loud. I know what they'll say, "she sounds depressed." I say depression has also lost it's definition. I'm giving it a new one. Depression is not a sickness that needs medicine. At least not the kind that I walked through. Depression is an overflow of disappointment and unanswered questions. It's a nose-full-of-water, trying to stay afloat. It's a whole bottle of sunscreen on a blistery body. No, it's not a sickness. It's a step. It belongs too. And as I close this chapter, I think I'll let the butterflies flutter in my tummy about the next one. 

I don't think I have what it takes for everyone's regular plan. And I like it this way.