I spent the weekend camping, and aside from getting rained out one night it was lovely. (Even sleeping in the car). But something happened Sunday night when I got home and woke up at three in the morning (thanks to Kub who has this need, apparently, to barf just outside my door. What is honestly totally cute is he wants to cuddle afterwards. Maybe he just needs to be comforted?) That something was I had a panic attack about moving, the reality of it all suddenly hit hard and I realized I was leaving my refuge and I was afraid. Leaving my blue room with its quiet, happy yellow stars and soft white curtains, my gentle fairy lights that float along the walls, leaving the home that I have been safe in for five straight years now... Leaving. The funny thing is I just needed to panic, to feel it, to know, and to get it out of my system. (Until I need to have another little panic.) Because after I spent maybe a good thirty minutes feeling afraid, almost terribly afraid, I felt fine, peaceful and sleepy, I fell back asleep and I haven't felt that panic since. But the other reality, that I have a massive amount of packing to do in about two weeks is making me anxious. I think most of me is ready to go, most. But there is a little bit that hangs back and doubts and worries and hurts.
That's it, all I needed to say.
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