It seems overwhelming packing up my life in boxes. Boxes with little labels on them... Kitchen, master bedroom, nursery, garage. Everything I own is now packed away in brown boxes. Nothing on the walls signifying my family had even exhisted here. No pictures of vacations or little ones with missing front teeth. Strangers picking up our discards posted online for free. Boxes filling the garage as I play Tetris stacking them in some sort of order for the movers.
Boxes induce such anxiety in me. I do not cope well with change, and yet all I am craving at this point in my life is change. I turn 36 tomorrow and I am not where I had hope or planned. I have missed out on so much. I fell through the cracks and yet managed to "function" as though all was just fine. My family and friends had no idea the abuse I endured behind closed doors late at night. I boxed it all up thinking I could handle it.
I put on close to 100 pounds, quit doing my hair, and some days just tossed it in a bun and put on whatever still fit and ran out the door to work. My make-up sitting in a drawer untouched and forgotten. I kept eating to stuff the pain further and further like cramming an oversized comforter into the washing maching. It doesn't quite fit but you make it anyway because life goes on.
I am hoping to free myself emotionally as I slowly unpack each box at the new place. I am hoping that going through the motions will help me go through the baggage I carry in my head and now on my ass and thighs. I want to open my boxes and set up my new life. My safe life.
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