Strongly

I dread the last few hours of Sunday night. It means I can start thinking about tomorrow. It means the end of two completely stress-free days; and the beginning of five days defined by stress.

I'm not talking about simple stress. I'm not talking about getting out of bed in the morning. Going to class. Walking and walking and walking. That's not what I'm talking about, so let me explain.

I'm being melodramatic, but that's just who I am and how I figure things out. I hate Sunday nights. I go to bed thinking about every way I can possibly mess up this week. It takes an hour longer than usual to fall asleep, while I try to shame my mind into taking a rest from worrying and hating. I don't hate people. I suppose I'm not supposed to use the word "hate".

So, I strongly dislike; specifically, places and myself IN those places. Never the people. I only strongly dislike people I know very well...and that's always on the flip side of loving them unconditionally.

But the problem remains: I strongly dislike places and myself in those places. I can track it back in my life to the first time I moved. When I was eleven. I strongly disliked the place to which we moved. I got over it eventually, and that place became something else...and by the time we moved again, I yearned for the place I had so strongly disliked....and then it happened again. And through it all I recognized that I was the problem. I was the one deciding how I felt about those places.

So how do I solve this problem? Because here I am! In another place. A place that scares me. That tests me and fails me. A place that with-holds answers and places fake hints in my way.

I know it's not the people...because I really love the people here. I've met generous and giving people. Men and women who accept me. Men and women who ask questions and wait for the answers and then share their own stories. I love people.

But the places are different. They belong to the people. Like a pet that growls at a stranger who means no harm. You wish you could explain to that pet that they have no reason to growl, but they love their owners; act first then think. And I know I shouldn't feel this way. But it's part of me these days.

So I dread Sunday nights. Because I've finally found a small place within the bigger place to feel at ease. This house, tucked away from the city. With two wonderful women looking out for me. This is a safe place for me now. But it's only for the night-time, the early morning, and the weekend. These two glorious days of freedom and air.

And tomorrow I go back to that bigger place that scares me and challenges me and makes me feel inadequate. And just when I find myself thinking "I can do this. I like this place." that's when something hits. A mistake. An accident. An unfortunate occurrence. And then...inexplicably, my mind takes me to all the other places I've lived, where I wouldn't have made that mistake. All the other places that have learned not to bite me, because I mean no harm.

Those places are no longer "places" but my homes. All of them. And I carry them with me into the new and the terrifying.

I know this won't make sense to some people. People who live for adventure and challenges. And I'm not trying to make a point really. I just thought I'd let you know how much I dislike Sunday nights.