Foxhole,
we are officially on the home stretch.
after months of bullshit,
stress,
uncertainty,
and wondering if life was ever going to stop throwing punches…

i’m almost there.

in about two weeks,
i’ll be back in my own space again.
i thought i’d be counting down the days.
i thought i’d be crying tears of joy.
i thought i’d be decorating in my head every night before i went to sleep but…

i feel…
numb?

it’s such a strange feeling because this is everything i’ve been praying for.

so why don’t i feel happier?
is it because i’ve been in survival mode for so long?

my nervous system doesn’t know what to do when the emergency is almost over.
for months,
every day has been about making it through.

save the money.
don’t lose the job.
ignore the drama.
don’t react.
cry privately.
take the hits.
keep pushing.

i think i’m afraid of trusting that i’ve finally made it to the other side.
the real finish line isn’t getting an apartment.
maybe it’s believing that:

i deserve to unpack my bags without wondering when i’ll have to pack them again.

lowkey: i think it’ll hit me when i walk in and it’s just me.