May 30th, 2018

I don’t want to move.

Everything is chaotic enough. My sister’s bed is piled with rumpled blankets and her shelf is overflowing with toys. The floor is covered in dirty clothes, trash, and dirt. It makes me feel squirmy just thinking about it. So, not only is my entire life falling into disarray, my room is too, and packing isn’t making anything better. Along with the physical squelch of my stomach as I crunch down on whatever is laying on the floor, is the feeling of nausea when you’re about to fall. The idea of moving feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, that when I peer over, the only thing I can see are the tiny white dots of clouds down below. When I look to the future I feel like I’m taking a jump into the unknown, and everyone is trying to tell me it will be just fine. At least my cat is here to comfort me. I’m going to miss listening to my friend laugh as we talk under the cozy pink-flowered comforter.

May 30th, 2020

Note: I recently found this journal entry from May 30th, 2018 and thought it would be interesting to post it today, exactly two years later. I only changed minor spelling and grammatical errors to make it easier to read. For context, I was just about to move to a new state, far away from the home I had lived in for over 14 years. I thought it was interesting, and I hope you did to. :)