It’s hard to believe it’s only been two months. I feel like I’ve been here forever. I spent three weeks in the clinic, so that means it’s been about five weeks – six? – since I started looking for a place to live. Heidelberg is a tough housing market, and I was looking at three, sometimes four flats a day and getting turned down for all of them. It was incredibly demoralizing, hard not to take it personally, and by yesterday I was well into believing that it’s not just my husband: nobody wants me around because I’m worthless. I felt a kind of combined panic and despair – what if I never find anything? So this morning I accepted a single room in a house with four other people, the only thing I’ve been offered so far, and have since been swimming in lake What Have I Done? I’ll have to rent a storage locker now. I checked out a place right after signing the contract, picked up a price list, and will probably go sign up tomorrow.
My current crew of reality checks all say this is a good step, and I’ll feel better when I’m out of this house, with memories and regrets leaping out at me at every turn. I mean yes, it’s a positive step, but also, like, a step forward in a process that I still really wish wasn’t happening.
Friends tell me I’m handling this like a rock star. I got a new job the same day I left the clinic, now I’ve found a new place to live, I got a bike, I put a rack on it by myself, I’ve figured out the mini-storage thing, and from the outside it looks pretty good. But I don’t know, it just seems like… I feel like rock stars don’t do all the work while crying, you know? I mean, maybe they do, it’s not like I would know, never having been one. Is it always going to be this hard? Why is my heart still burning?
Song du jour of the day: Landslide, by Fleetwood Mac.