Don't Go Breaking Into Song

So for days now I've been trying to write about my next move across the country; and I finally figured out why I can't seem to post anything:

I'm scared.  I'm really scared. The last time I moved across the country I regretted it. And not like "oh I shouldn't have had that extra cookie" regret, but full on blaming and shaming myself for things that were never within my control; constantly questioning how much happier I would've been if I just hadn't moved. 

And yes; that's why I'm planning to move back to Philly.....but what if I end up regretting that too, looking back at LA as a happier time?   How will I get over losing what I'm leaving behind if Philly isn't everything that I want it to be?

The ending of the movie Sweet Charity has always stuck with me.  (Yes, spoiler alert. Skip this paragraph if you still haven't gotten to watch the movie from 45 years ago.)  In the movie, Charity works as an escort, until she and a customer fall in love. He scoops her up and makes plans to marry her, have her move in with him, and all in all give her a happier life. 

But on the day of the wedding, he leaves her at the alter. Heartbroken, Charity calls her coworkers, with whom she had been living, to tell them she needs to come home. 

But they are too exited for Charity's new life that she can't bare to tell them the news, and through her tears she plays along with the happy fiction, eventually hanging up the phone.  So she is friendless, homeless and completely alone.  That night she sleeps on the bridge that reminds her of the last man to break her heart; once again in pieces after over investing in a better life. 

And I know I'm not Charity.  I don't need a prince to come save me; nor will I ever depend solely on someone else for my survival. But I relate to the happier moments turning to poison as soon as they become memories.  I understand that feeling of calling the friends who want just the best for you and not being able to vocalize that once again - I've failed to find happiness.  I don't even know how to face myself when happens. 

There were moments in this past year where I'd close my eyes, tense my fists and I really would try to go back in time.  I felt responsible for my suffering. 

So what if this move results the same way?

The last time I transferred to a position that wasn't my promoted role, I quit the job. What will I do for work and rent and insurance if that happens again...? Not to mention that I am really committed to this career path.  Is that worth staying in a city where I am sick and miserable?  Or moving but backwards into a role without a chance to show what I have learned?

If you can't notice I tend to catastrophize and plan accordingly for each reality of apocalypse.  I used to panic about subway cars; how would my life have been different if I had gotten into the front car instead of the one just behind it...?  Who would my friends be if I had had calculus for first period and not fourth?  What would my life had been like if....

So I know this nervousness is normal for me.  I'll be happier once the move is done.  I just wish that in the meantime, I wasn't feeling so afraid.

To Build A Home

And at last I stood on the outskirts of my struggle, staring at what had become my home.  From a distance I saw my once supportive beams, now fallen, splintered and harmful. I recalled how that roof over my head had become toxic, and how climbing out from under it had left me bruised and exhausted.

I was still sore, still sick and still on my own.

I finally realized that here I was, stuck in a pit of my own creation and my own demise. 

To fill it and rebuild sounded like more effort than it was worth.  I had fought so hard, and what had it been for?

This empty pit. This lot of nothing, a painful reminder of my efforts at construction that quaked into a wasted year.  I had already discovered this spot as turbulent and sterile, so why was I still trying to make it my home?

It took me a lot of time to see this clarity. It was as if I needed to escape the pit and wait for the dust to settle to finally see. And as soon as I did, I booked a flight and went back to my old loves. 

I wanted to look at my old home.  Though I did worry how much of its stability was rested upon the ex; was he the reason it hadn't collapsed?  And now without him, would it still be the stable home that I needed?

And the answer is yes. My friends, those coworkers turned to loves, are my beams of support and light, even helping me find more people to keep building up my life. 

Perhaps he was my windows, my guide to the outside world, but with the warmth of those I adore, my house is well heated enough not to need his glass panes. (And who really wants to rely so heavily upon something so fragile?)

Even as a visitor, I feel more at home here than I've felt in months.  Some had said well I only had a year to build that western home and yet I had the same time here. And between an empty pit and a cozy and warm cabin, there's only one choice:

Happiness. 

This is the city where I fell in love. With my love at the time, with my coworkers-turned-to-family, with my jobs, this city, my life and myself. 

So considering that in under a week a rediscovered more happiness than I found in a year, no, I don't want to go back to that pit.  

I didn't waste my time, as I learned there that no path is worth permanently leaving behind a home where you are happy..... I just wish I could have learned that without the constant struggle of this last year.  

So I'll see what it is like to go back to the pit.  And if it doesn't seem worth it, I know where my little cabin is, with loves waiting to adventure with me. 

Post-Mortem on West Coast Me

          I have had a pretty rough year.  I moved out here under the pretext that I was paving the way for my love and I to live together in a city we had dreamed of for two years.  I want to work in TV/Film and he could do anything out here, acting, programming, urban farming, literally anything, but he just wasn’t ready to leave yet.  So I moved out first and stayed with one of my best friends.  I knew her and her family for over a decade and was so thrilled for the opportunity to save some money as I lived with people that I loved.  

Within the span of a month, however, my once-love said that there was a possibility that he would never move (something that absolutely would have kept me from leaving had I known this before I was already here) and my friend’s family said that they needed my room back and that I had a month to find a new place.

          So I found a place quickly.  It was far from work, however; one day I left three hours before my shift and was still late.  So obviously I needed a different space.  I applied for a room somewhere, almost lived in that landlord’s guest house, and then there was another space that was available in the original building.  It was her old office and I loved it.  It had a loft for the bed, a little patio, and more space than I’ve ever had.  It had a shared bathroom down the hall, but honestly I’d rather share a bathroom than a kitchen, so I was happy.  I also knew that my love would like it, if he moved out here.  He always loves little balconies and there was definitely enough space for both of us.  It was terrifyingly more than I had paid for rent in my entire life, though, even though it was considered cheap for this city.  So I knew that every financial woe I’d associate with him, for making me believe that he was going to come here as my partner, and instead he abandoned me to figure it out on my own.  I realized he wasn’t a part of my life out here, and wasn’t try to be, so I called something that was already done.  Plus without the pressure of him coming here to be with me and to help me, perhaps I wouldn’t resent him for how much I was going to struggle.

          And things were okay for a little while.  It was hard being on my own after a few years of living with a love and before that being surrounded in school by people who knew you and could see you change.  That’s one of the best things about friends; they remind you of when you grow.  And yes, I made a few friends out here.  I pushed myself to go out more than I usually would and with the safe umbrella of my coworkers, I felt confident in my West Coast body.

Things were getting harder, though, and I was losing weight from not eating enough as I couldn’t afford much food after paying rent.  I don’t know how much that ended up attributing to my health, but about two or three months later I was in the hospital.  You know that story though; I was in for 8 days, out for 6, back in for 10, and when I got home I saw that my landlord wanted the space back as her office.  I had signed a year lease, but she never gave me an original copy and when I requested it at this point, the contract now said that it was a month-to-month lease.  She also had a commercial license for the building, not a housing one, so I didn’t have any renter’s rights, and so I had to move.

          Also, at this point, I had lost about half the friends that I made out here and half of the ones that were leftover from high school.  And it makes sense; my life is anything but easy.  Some did it tastefully, some in a way that hurt so much it’ll be hard to ever forgive.  Basically I was in this space of feeling alone and like a burden to everyone I loved, fearing constantly losing those that were still by my side.  It made me afraid to reach out to anyone but I still so desperately needed help.  There were many nights that I wept alone, simply wishing for someone to hold my hand.

It was moments like this that made me really miss my love and my makeshift home out there.  I had more people in Philly telling me that they wished I were closer so they could help, than I had friends left in this city.  And I became nostalgic.  It could be a “grass is always greener” mentality, but I longed for the happiness that I had there.  I tried to get back together with my once-love, too, offering anything: to leave the West Coast, to move wherever he goes, to start over somewhere new, to wait for him until he was ready, even to pay for a plane ticket for him to see if he could be happy out here; because I realized that more than a career in TV/Film, I want to have a life with people that I love.  And in the last two years I have lived in four cities, and was happier in the three that I was together with him, than I have been here without him.  He declined.  It’s so hard to know exactly what I want and not be able to work for it.  Everything I’ve ever wanted I could achieve with hard work; it may not have been easy, but it was always worth the happiness that I made for myself.  And I’ve discovered a key to escape my unhappiness here and was told not to open that door.

Also around this time was when I moved in with the roommate that after one day together decided she wanted to break our lease.  That actually was to my benefit, ironically, because I didn’t want a roommate anyway (especially one that was that unaccepting) and our building manager showed me a studio in a different building that he manages and it’s exactly what I can afford and it’s all mine (and no shared bathroom this time).

          So aside from feeling like I am in a city where I’ve only felt pain and loss, I have the perfect apartment.  It’s also about the price that a studio in any city would be, so it helps me feel less like this city is taking my money and my freedom with it.  That said, I don’t know how to find my happiness now.  It’s not that I need someone else to be happy; I’m happy by myself and like myself quite a bit.  Instead, it’s that I feel a greater joy at making those that I love happy.  I’d sooner get my once-love a toy from his favorite anime, than spend that money on something for myself.  I’m not selfless, I still take care of me….there just isn’t that much that I need.  A roof over my head, food that doesn’t make my belly hurt, a blanket because I’m always cold…and that’s about it.  For instance, my little hermit crab has a mansion with three water dishes (salt, fresh and gatorade), two kinds of food, coconut substrate AND sand, mineral cubes, a climbing branch, a giant “tree” to climb on/in, a hermit hut, two sponges and three extra shells.  I also have a humidity gage and thermometer, as well as a nighttime heating lamp to make sure that my baby one has the perfect conditions for the happiest of homes; because seeing him happy makes me happier than anything else.

This is the capacity of love that I want to give.  And without my once-love, I don’t know where to begin in rekindling that extra happiness.  I think the first step is getting out of this isolation of no work and no socializing.  I need to be around people again.  That’s why I decided to go back to the East Coast for my birthday.  So many people I love are there, and it’ll give me a chance to see my former city without it being tied to my ex.  Perhaps it’s the layout of the city that I love.  Maybe I identify more with the hard working East Coast over than the lax spirit of the West.  I could miss traveling and hopping on a bus for two hours and being in a different state.  Perhaps I miss walking around for everything I need and feeling independent of rides from friends.  Maybe it’s that I felt safer there than I do here.

          One of my doctors thinks not feeling safe is a key to why I’ve been in pain.  She thinks that my brain has been mimicking the symptoms of my Crohn’s disease to warn me that I’m in danger.  Perhaps it could be that I no longer have 3,000 miles between me and the woman that abused me.  Maybe it’s that my ex always made me feel safe, and now I’m on my own.  I don’t know how to feel safe by myself.  And I don’t need anyone to help me with the battle, I just want someone to hold my hand after the fight.  (And the hardest part is I know whose hand I want to hold, and don’t really want anyone else’s.)

          So I’m really excited to see what this trip brings.  I’m hoping for clarity, less pain, lots of fun, and to get to see the people that I love so much.  I really felt like myself last year, that I was growing into the person that I want to become.  Hopefully this trip will help bring that forward motion back to a city that’s felt pretty stagnant.  Maybe even, through the eyes of my all-knowing friends, they’ll help me see that in this year, which has felt a like a waste of my time, actually helped me grow into something I can be proud of.  That’s what I hope for the most.  This city has never been very good to me, and I’ve lost so much this year; I don’t want to regret moving here.