I’m challenging myself to not burn through my underwear for the two weeks I’ve returned to San Francisco. So then maybe I won’t have to find the requisite 22 quarters and cup of detergent to do laundry… I’m back in my “dope college dorm room” in Noe Valley that I lived in for the first half of 2018, and I can’t help but chuckle (weakly) at how funny life is.
I’m paying double rent and sleeping in my sleeping bag, my mattress is appreciably larger than its base, and I forgot how my neighbor upstairs wakes up at 6:30am and has bad sex once a week (my best guess from the angry creaks above). My ex-bff/roommate seems to be waging some sort of scorched-earth, bridge-burning campaign, including unfriending me on Facebook, holding my security deposit hostage, and discouraging me from picking up my last things (including my blanket) by eating my muesli, changing the locks, and general meanness. It worked, and so here I am, burrowed in my sleeping bag for warmth and trying to be diligent in the bathroom to avoid the aforementioned laundry.
Although I knew coming back to the caustic fallout of my best friendship and the end of an unlikely love affair with my unlikely lover would not be full of pleasant feelings, I’m glad I did it. My two most significant relationships in SF ran their courses. My buddy reminded me: “it’s sad but the relationships are ending because they’ve served their purpose and met certain needs in your life. Now it’s time to make room for what’s waiting for you next.” What I need to focus on right now is how to continue to address those needs through myself, my existing support network (friends, family, therapist), and new connections.
But before that, I want to acknowledge my feelings, especially the unpleasant ones — anger, hurt, rejection, indignation, resentment, shame, guilt, vulnerability, disappointment, fear. To do so, my friend encouraged me to let loose and write letters to these two people…and not send them (of course)!
…I thought about posting those letters but there are parts that are too revealing, dark, and petty (and I have to have at least one post this year my mom can read!). I highly encourage doing this exercise whenever you need to clear dark emotions and feelings. Better to get them on paper rather than letting them poison you and those around you.
In the end, laundry won, and I sourced some quarters and detergent. I had spilled champagne on my kimono, and I didn’t want it sitting in my tiny home (aka storage locker) for months in its boozy shame. #firstworldproblems I also got quite attached to my mummy bag. I sleep with an old-school cloth diaper called a “dido” at my feet (don’t kink shame me!). It usually gets lost, so if I wake up in the middle of the night, I have to go on a tactile hunt in the dark in the blankets, on the floor, and sometimes amongst the extremities of whomever is in my bed. Who knew a mummy bag would be the perfect solution? Now, my dido is always right there at my feet. Mostly because everything’s right there. #swaddled!
Even though the first week was legit rough as I embraced “transition time” in those two key relationships, I’m really glad I came back to start the process of healing and moving forward. A friend corrected me when I told her I had PTSD from ex-BFF drama: “Sorry, dear, you’re still in TSD.” So, here’s to moving on to the “P” in PTSD!
I also got the chance to strengthen my relationships with friends and the queer community before taking off. It’s interesting how the connection is easier and appreciation deeper when there is a sense of urgency and scarcity of time.