my comforter.

a year ago today i was sitting on my bed, in my parent's basement, with all my belongings in boxes and piles all over the room. it was the day before i was moving to college and i was all sorts of confused. i'm normally not the biggest fan of change, and i wasn't looking forward to leaving my family. however, i knew how intensely unhappy i was in my current situation and instead of complaining about it, like i'm prone to do, i decided to add 400 miles and a few thousand dollars to the mix and change everything about it. that night as i sat in my bed full of dread and frantic anticipation i wrote the following words. i never really planned on anyone reading them before, but i figure it's been long enough now that i think i can share this:

Tonight is one of many lasts as I start this new chapter in my young adult life. I’ve spent the past two days packing up all my precious things from sweat shirts to old journals into brown boxes to take to college. I know college is supposed to be exciting but I can’t help but feel a little lost seeing my sanctuary in such a bare state. I’ve never seen my closet so empty, or my walls so bare and I’m not sure I approve. I’ve known for months that this day was coming. I made a promise to myself that I was going to move away to do some growing up but now that this day has come, I can’t help but feel saddened by it. 

For the past two years I’ve gone through some pretty good and pretty horrible times; I graduated from high school, I started college, I had my heart ripped out, I’ve felt more alone than I ever thought possible, and I’ve come back from it, slowly but surely healing each broken part of me.  There were times I felt like my pain would start to stitch itself up only to be ripped open, never to fully heal. But finally I feel like those wounds are no longer gaping and half-open, but healed completely with maybe a scar or two to remind me just how far I've come.

And through that painful healing process I've had one sure sanctuary, this room. I’ve spent ten years getting everything about it just right, from the pictures on the walls to the color of the sheets. I felt like my room was an extension of myself, my creativity. I've spent many mornings on my floor in front of my full length mirror following makeup tutorials to get my eyes just right. I’ve sat for countless hours in my Papasan chair with my laptop surfing the web and editing my photography. I’ve spent way too many hours in my perfect, oh, my famously comfortable bed reading thousands of pages, sleeping in way too late, and dreaming. I’ve had the most perfect dreams here, of love and loss and occasionally lucidity. I’ve spent many nights with my blinds open, staring at the moon and stars through my window only to fall asleep in the moon’s light, and eventually be woken up by that same open window and the morning sun’s heat upon my face.

Whenever I was asked where I’d want to be most, where I felt the most safe and comfortable, I would always think of my room. I know I’m moving on to hopefully better my life but I can’t help but feel a little bit of sorrow that my greatest comforter can’t come with me. 

(pretend you can't see me in that mirror- pre losing 20 lbs. yikes)