a hermit crab knows when its shell has stopped being a home.

it leaving its shell is often a sign of a stressful event or poor living conditions. the walls that once protected start to press in, the space that once felt safe becomes too small, too loud, and too heavy. so it does the unthinkable: it steps out. alone, exposed, unsure… but certain that staying cramped is worse than facing open water.

so the process of moving succcccccckkkkkkkkkkks.
the beginning phase of:

keep
donate
trash

…is so tiring.
although i discovered a few things about myself…

i love to collect and hoard random things.
y-tf do i have all these old iphones boxes?
did i forget to throw away all these receipts of past shit i bought?
am i an emotional hoarder because what is even half this shit?

there was a letter i was looking for that i could not find.
it had some important information that i needed,
but the place i thought i put it was not the place i thought it was.
i found said letter in a completely different place.

i didn’t just hoard objects; i hoarded versions of myself.
old moods,
old identities,
old fears,
and old relationships (or ones i wanted),
tucked in drawers and bins like expired warranties.
letters that i wrote to God i’m embarrassed to read now.
half this stuff isn’t storage tbh.
it’s a time capsule for a me that doesn’t exist anymore.

i don’t even want to think about when it’s time to tackle my closet…

in my next spot,
i’m going for a more minimalist life.