As you may or may not know, today I turn 22 years old. Call it nostalgia, remorse, or guilt, but this birthday has left me feeling everything but happy. You see, for my 21st birthday I gave myself an apartment. I was working a pretty solid job and the night before my birthday my ex (bribed with beer), helped me move my stuff out of my mom's house and into my new place.
I'll admit, my apartment was a hole in the wall. It was cramped, ill-conceived, and apparently a half-way house for every frog and lizard in the area (note: I am deathly terrified of both). Despite it's obvious character flaws, I loved it. I felt like for once I had something that was mine and no one could take away. I had spent a long time being continually kicked out of my mom's house because of my behavior/her being fed up with me. Having a place of my own to me signified the stability of knowing where I was going to sleep every night.
You'd think that because of all of this I would've busted my ass to keep it right? Well, you'd be wrong. Through my own irresponsibility I lost both my job and my apartment. This was subsequently followed by the worst year of my life. I won't bore you with the details but it involved; lost jobs, having no money, doing highly questionable things to earn money, theft, endless fighting, and bouncing from house to house because no one wants to support a dead beat.
This past year has left me exhausted. I have managed (mostly due to my mom's influence) to put back together some semblance of a decent life. I am now working full time and living with my mom again. I wish I could say with certainty that it can only get better from here but I've never really been good at keeping promises. For now, I'm taking it day by day and hoping for the best.
No comments:
Post a Comment