MY BED. I finally have my bed at the house. We’d had it stored at the apartment for a while finishing up our last little bits of projects here and there, but we finally brought it home over the weekend. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well. We got it assembled and I crashed hard for like 12hrs lol.
I loved my apartment, and I loved the little borough we lived in, but it feels good to move forward and start fresh in Indy with Hubs. This is the first apartment where I didn’t feel like I was losing something when we packed up and left.
Any other time I’ve moved through out my life (aside from out of my parents house anyway) I felt like there was some lingering attachment to the place. Like each different phase of my life had significance in the place I called my home. I guess in a way that’s how it was. I’ve moved around a lot, but only when my life transitioned. In essence I outgrew my dwellings. Not in terms of stuff to put in them but in life.
Leaving Ohio over the weekend, I was ready to leave. I don’t have that nagging feeling in the back of my soul pulling me toward it anymore. I don’t feel like there is unfinished business, or answers to unlock my recovery anymore. Which is a really huge deal for me. I’ve really been struggling with that since I began my journey.
I was a little worried getting uprooted so quickly might cause a lingering attachment. Uprooted so quickly… yes. About a week before we officially moved into the house our apartment was broken into once again. Nothing was taken, but a few of my sedative pills were missing, my daughter saw a man in her room, and I have about 15minutes of lost time. My Fitbit recorded my heart rate spiking, and LOTS of activity during my missing time, but the only memories I have are bits and pieces that felt like a dream. I choked on something, lots of yelling, arguing, my daughter screaming for me… idk.
I have zero doubt that someone was inside my apartment. The same evening my apartment was egged. Yeah, I know. Who eggs an apartment building, am I right?! I found egg on the outside of the apartment which wasn’t a huge deal, until I went to put the kids in the tub and found egg inside my apartment too. Whomever it was decided to break in and wash the egg off their hands after picking up the shells outside.
It wasn’t the act of a random vandal that’s obvious, and my daughter was able to ID the man in her room. I know exactly who was behind it and it… yeah. I don’t even know what to say. I just did the most logical thing and got my kids the hell out of there ASAP. I’m fairly certain the goal was to intimidate me, or maybe trigger my PTSD and distract me from working on my book. Man, the only thing it did was break my heart.
I can’t say I was really surprised, especially since I’ve had a recurring nightmare about a break in confrontation for years. I’m glad we never had an actual confrontation. Or well at least while I was lucid and 100% aware of what was going on. If what felt like a dream was infact a skewed reality there was some confrontation, but at least it didn’t end with one of us in a bodybag like my recurring nightmare. I’m thankful for that. All things considered no matter what happened during those 15 minutes, everything worked out for the best.
Just… Egg Bandit, if you’re reading this, (or if someone is reading it on your behalf) just do me a favor: next time your emotions get the best of you, please call someone and talk yourself down before you show up at my house. There is good in you. Fight for it.