It’s early Sunday morning as I’m writing this and I can’t sleep.I don’t know what it is, my mind is off wondering but not in a calm dreamy fashion, more of million-miles-an-hour blur that I’m watching from behind a screen. There are thoughts there but I can’t quite make out any of them clearly.
One thing that’s been racing around lately is that in a few months this temporary home of mine will no longer be my home. I won’t have access to this room anymore, or this flat or the building. That’s so weird to think about.
I am looking forward to it. I’ll finally be able to get an early night and sleep the whole way through. I won’t have to squeeze food onto the tiniest of fridge shelves. My bed won’t rock when my flatmates shut their doors.
But there are a lot of memories here.
The power-cuts that forced us out of our rooms. Making as cake in a saucepan. Chats in the kitchen that pulled me out of my head and into the real world for a while.
Not everything has been great though. I’ve been a prisoner to my anxiety and there have been bad days and lonely nights. On more than one occasion, I’ve wanted to pack up and leave, but I’m glad I’ve stuck it out. I’ve proved to everyone, to myself, that I can do it, I can take the first few steps towards independence.
I’m just nervous about what comes next.