I don’t live in the greatest place.
It’s a 125 year old house with a lot of maintenance issues. But it has a roof, four walls, and it’s mine.
After the stress of nursing school, then becoming homeless, then being strangled, and now living with the aftermath of everything that happened, I’ve been depressed for such a long time.
Somewhere along the way, my house got away from me. The messes grew bigger and bigger until they were everywhere, surrounding me. I didn’t even know where to begin. Working full time as a nurse left me so exhausted that I barely had enough energy to survive each day, let alone catch up on everything piling around me.
Since going on leave from work, I finally feel like I’ve had time to do the things I couldn’t manage before.
I started cleaning one room at a time. I put up decorations that had been sitting in boxes for months. I took apart my old, broken bed frame that had partially collapsed onto the floor. Then I bought the first functional bed frame I’ve had since childhood and put the entire thing together myself.
I bought a matching bed set with a real comforter after sleeping under blankets from the homeless shelter for over a year.
This probably sounds dumb and insignificant to some people, but it has been life-changing for me.
I feel like I’m getting my life back.
I feel like I’m pulling my standards out of the dirt, where they’ve been for far too long.
I feel less like an animal trying to survive and more like a human again.