I remember the first time I moved away from my family. As sheltered as this sounds it was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
I was moving 4-hours away to Sydney and had only just turned 18; I was young, vulnerable, and completely incapable to look after myself.
I remember watching my parents drive away from me as I stood in front of my new home (a dorm – not much of a ‘home’), fighting tears behind my huge sunglasses and feeling like I was all alone in the world. I had no friends and no family close by, and it was the loneliest most heartbreaking few days of my life.
It’s a strange sensation when something tears you so much, your chest actually hurts as you lie in bed sobbing each night, wishing you could hear your Dads persistent snores, the sound of waves crashing, and your cat as she nestles in to your chest softly breathing in and out.
The SECOND time I moved away from someone (or lots of someones) was when I was leaving my on campus dorm and to be honest I wasn’t that phased to be leaving as I had few friends (such a loser) and hated the whole ‘dorm’ concept.
The third time was recently and rather than me moving away it was someone moving away from me. Out of our home. My flatmate and I had lived together for over 2 years and people who have had a flatmate (that they actually like) know how close your relationship is. My flatmate knew everything about me; I remember telling him something (which I thought was a big deal) a few months ago only to have him reply, “um I know – we LIVE together”. He had helped me dash to the bathroom on many occasion as I threw up last nights many cocktails. Just as he had thrown me toilet paper after I’d sat down, started my business, before realising the lack of something quiet crucial. He knew all my knots in my back as he expertly rubbed them away and understood exactly how to manage my ‘moods’.
And now he is gone. And although he will always be a part of my life it is totally different than when you live with someone. Living together is the most intimate of relationships. He wasn’t my boyfriend, he wasn’t my brother and he wasn’t my best friend… but he knew more than all of them combined.
Sometimes I still come home expecting to find him lolling around on the couch, a horror movie blaring, mac and cheese curdling in a bowl on the floor, and the repugnant scent of cigarettes wafting through the air. (Sometimes I sniff other smoker friends just to be reminded of him – sad huh). Instead, a much cleaner and emptier apartment that smells pretty and has everything where I artfully placed it meets me. And I miss him.
Life changes and people move. People move away and so do you. But it is still one of those horrible things I am not used to as of yet and I’m not sure I ever will.
What are your emotionally draining ‘moving’ moments?