I know not many people in the world truly enjoy the idea of change but I admit that it is not a thing I enjoy. Some changes can be good but generally I don't handle them that well. I've been hit with a rather big one; we have to move.
I am not exactly a stranger to moving. I was born in Sydney, lived my first few schooling years in Dubbo and have lived in a minimum of 10 houses. Some we stayed in for a little while, others we stayed in for 6 months. Once we even moved next door. This is the first house I have ever lived in for longer than 2 years and that means quite a bit to me. We renovated this house ourselves. Completely. I helped paint the walls and my parents sanded the floors. My stepdad put in the kitchen and our old bathroom which was recently renovated. Our house has been in some level of renovation since we moved into it 8 years ago. The sad thing is we had just finished them all. The house was ours in every way. Perfect, complete.
I am a very big believer in the idea that homes express who you are as a person. It is why I chose to do my recent photography project on that belief. I don't ever feel I know someone properly until I have been to their house.
I am very much a 'homebody' as I have heard some people call it. As I have said before I have had friends threaten to come over and chase me out of the house. I feel safe here. My room has changed subtly as I have, but it still has elements and remnants from the person I was when I first moved here. I admit the reason I never wanted to move out was that I didn't want to leave this room behind. Now it seems I have no choice.
Stupid though it sounds I feel that a lot of me is tied up in this room. I don't think I can properly explain it, except to say that I feel almost like I will lose a definable piece of myself to leave it. Everything about it is mine. This has left me feeling rather uncertain and oddly vague.
My conflict resolution technique of playing music loud enough to drown out any internal thoughts is going to leave me deaf one day. Maybe I should learn to play violent video games instead in moments of breakdown. At least it is Tori Amos this time and not Marilyn Manson. At least I will go deaf to the most beautiful lyrics. Maybe next time I will blog about her.
Forgive my melodramatic ramblings. It has only begun to sink in. The house goes up for sale next month.