The End Of An Era

This is my last entry from Command Central, as Will and I are moving tomorrow and will be off the grid for a few days or so.

Looking around at the house where so much of our lives happened, I’m sad but also relieved in a way—relieved to be out from under it and all the stress living here has created over the past eight months. We don’t have to worry about how to make our $1200/month rent, or how to pay the $400 electric bills we ran up because the house is old and drafty and we were perpetually cold (well, I was anyway). We also don’t have to worry about keeping it clean, a task that became increasingly difficult as our kids, who helped around the house at least some of the time, grew up and moved out.

I’m going to miss it, of course. This is a beautiful setting, and I know we’re going to feel terribly cramped in the beginning because we’ve had so much room to spread out. But then, almost anything would seem cramped after living for 12 years on 2 1/2 acres in a four-bedroom, three-bath house, so we’re prepared to be a bit claustrophobic for a while.

Even so, I also have an odd sense of safety in moving into a much smaller space. It’s kind of like I felt when I was in the hospital: yes, it involves being somewhat confined, but I also don’t have to stress about trying to live a life that finally became too big for me to handle. Maybe it’s the increase in my antidepressant, and maybe it’s just the fact that with a new year come new beginnings, but I feel optimistic for the first time in I don’t remember how long.

Only time will tell if this is the right move or not. I have my misgivings about living with other people, particularly ones I don’t know well, but it sure beats the streets or the shelter. It’s not like we had any more attractive options, after all. As it is, all we have to pay is the rent—utilities are included—and contribute some food, which is not difficult when we get three-plus hundred dollars’ worth of food stamps every month. We can stay warm and dry, we have a lovely bathroom, and we have full run of the house and yard, except for the upstairs where the house’s owner lives. That’s OK—after a dozen years of dealing with stairs, I’m just as happy not to have to anymore.

And so my next adventure begins. Being 95% of the way out of my depression, I’m actually looking forward to what this new life has in store for Will and me. I’ll see you when we get settled. Happy New Year!


Published by bpnurse

I'm a retired registered nurse and writer who also happens to be street-rat crazy, if the DSM-IV.....oops, 5---is to be believed. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the age of 55, and am still sorting through the ashes of the flaming garbage pile that my life had become. Here, I'll share the lumps and bumps of a late-life journey toward sanity.... along with some rants, gripes, sour grapes and good old-fashioned whining from time to time. It's not easy being bipolar in a unipolar world; let's figure it out together.

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