Tuesday, October 9, 2012

She's Leaving Home

     I try to keep this blog on-topic as much as possible, but every so often, I need it for me and what's going on in my head. Which sounds semi-stupid now that I see it typed out, as every-damn-thing I write is something that's going on in my head, but I hope you've read enough by now that you know me well enough to know what I mean. I'm going to tie it back to my husband's Marfan's Syndrome, because the root cause of what's got me so upset is that damned disorder, but just be warned - it's a tenuous tie at best. Mostly, it's just my abject fear of what's coming.

     In less than seventy-two hours, I'm leaving behind the only home I've ever known and setting off for a new life in North Carolina. It's a decision that my husband and I didn't make lightly, but one that we felt was the best way to make good come from a bad situation. Namely, the fact that my husband lost his job last March and nothing employment-wise was working out here in St. Louis. We decided to give up our house voluntarily before we lost it and move in with friends (in his case) and family (in mine).

     Every day, I'm thankful to Adam and my parents for unhesitatingly providing shelter from the storm to each of us and allow us to make a fresh start. It's been going well since the transition, so I take that as a good omen that Charlotte will be kinder to us than St. Louis has been of late. Hell, it even seems like his health is better in that city than it was in the Midwest, though I know that's probably not a thing. The methadone regiment is working nicely, however, so that's a huge positive.

     We found a little house when I was down there and it's right in the neighborhood we wanted. My husband's new job is wonderful and pays well, but more importantly, offers full benefits. That's a key piece to the puzzle, which I'm sure is the most obvious thing in the world to anyone who reads this blog, but it stills bears mentioning. And on that same house-hunting trip last month? I got to re-connect with Adam, whom I hadn't seen in almost two years, and that was awesome. Even better, I met and totally hit it off with someone new that I have every hope will become a great friend to me. These are all really, really good things.

     Those really, really good things, though, haven't yet been able to push my sadness and semi-panic out of my head. There's also a nasty little ribbon of guilt snaking through it all, too, because I know this move is the best thing for my husband, especially. And really, after the year and a half or so he's endured, I don't feel that I should be moping around about moving. I'm twenty-eight years old, for Christ's sake! Shouldn't I be able to just be excited to start a new chapter of life with my husband?

     I can't find the excitement at this moment, though. I've been sick to my stomach for most of the day and looking at the boxes full of belongings stacked up in my bedroom just makes my throat close up. I keep trying to look at this as a road-trip adventure, especially since I have one of my best friends in the world driving the moving truck and staying with me the first weekend in North Carolina. I'm so happy he's going to be there and I know it'll be okay at first because I'll still have that living, breathing piece of home with me. Putting him on the plane, though, that's something I can't really think about right now.

     I keep trying to tell myself that this is for the best, that I should be excited. And most days, I am. Or maybe that it was just that it didn't seem real until now. I mean, yeah, my husband's been there and I've been here for a couple of months now, but I've at least been at home with my parents, living in my childhood bedroom. Do you know how much comfort there is in that? A lot, is the short answer. I'm someone who very much likes the familiar and the known and to be facing an uncertainty on this scale has just shaken me more than I ever thought possible.

     None of my usual tricks for calming my thoughts have worked - not driving around with music so loud the rear view mirror shakes, not doing a horror-movie marathon (don't judge, we all have our methods), not talking to my parents or my husband. Nothing. This, then, is my last attempt to find some peace. When the thoughts are flying around too fast, choking my poor brain and threatening to bring me to tears, all I have left is writing. My God, could I be any more emo?

     Regardless, it's all true, everything I just said. I want so badly to just be excited for a new start for my husband and I, because things have been so bad for so long. We've fought, long and hard, to get his medical issues reined in and we've had our asses handed to us by the Marfan's more often than we haven't. It's taken the proverbial village to get my husband and I back on our feet after getting kicked in the teeth so many times we're still bleeding and I feel awful for not being happier, more excited, more eager to start fresh. What the hell is the matter with me?

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