I’m living in an apartment I can’t afford. I’m dropping out of college, I can’t stand it there. I’m looking for a new apartment for when my lease is up in July. My parents keep trying to talk me into moving home. There is absolutely no way in hell that will happen. I love my parents. In the long run, I lucked out with my parents. 15 year old Hailee didn’t think so, 17 year old Hailee didn’t even think so. However, I realise now that my parents raised me insanely well. With saying that, there is still no way I will move back there.
I’m sitting in my living room. It’s a wreck. I’m a messy person. I feel uncomfortable here. Nothing is mine. I feel like a burden to my roommates. Well, to my roommate. The other one, the mole that lives upstairs, I couldn’t give less of a shit about.
I digress. What I want to talk about, is the idea of home. 6 months ago, my idea of home was a beautiful house in the country with a pond and high windows and ceilings. The furniture was makeshift and from thrift stores, because I’m a cheapskate. And yet, it gave it this character that you just fell in love with. I would write all day, staring out of my office window at the fields. At the end of the day, **** would come home and we’d make dinner, and watch tv. He’d go to bed, because he has to be up for work in the morning. And I’d fall asleep at my desk. I’d wake in the morning in my bed. He would always wake up around 1 am, to get a drink of water, and carry me to bed. In the summer we would sit on the porch swing. In the winter we would watch the snow out the window.
Doesn’t that sound incredible? I don’t think it will ever happen, and that is devastating to me. I pictured kids, and grocery shopping, and, God, even arguing! Yelling at each other until our vocal chords burned. It sounded amazing. I could taste it. I don’t think I will ever get so lucky.
So what’s next? A shitty apartment. My neighbor will be a crackhead. My furniture will be one lone couch. It’s where I will sleep as well as write and eat and socialize. Because I am just too lazy to go get anything else. No one will sleep over. No one will come home with me at the end of the night.
This is getting very sad, and that wasn’t my intention. I just want to find a home. Someplace I walk into and don’t scowl up the stairs at the idea of a roommate I despise existing above me. A warm place. A safe place. A place that is filled with love, even if I am alone.
Maybe my problem is I need to find a way to fill a place with love and warmth and safety, by myself. How do you expect someone else to love you if you don’t love yourself? That’s essentially the idea, isn’t it? I need to love myself. I need to make a home for myself, before I make a home with anyone else. This is good for me. Being entirely alone. If I’m comfortable living alone, even after seeing someone for an extended period of time, if they leave, I won’t be helpless. If I have a strength inside of myself, I won’t have to rely on anyone else. That is what’s best for me.
Don’t get me wrong, if that **** fellow showed up at 3 am tomorrow and told me to pack up and we were going to move into that country house, I’d be there in a heartbeat. No doubt about it. But I can’t rely on that. I can’t rely on anyone. I need to know what it’s like to rely only on myself. That is what will make me the best I can be.
There are plenty of people who love me and would allow me to rely on them, but I’m going to do as little of that as possible. It’s what’s best, at least it will be in the long run. And maybe 10 years from now I will live in that perfect country home with the pond and the kids and the bullshit. But, we’ll jump off that bridge when we get to it.