So, packing is driving me bonkers. I've filled tons of (granted small) boxes and I haven't packed most of my books or movies or clothes. But I've got all the photos and posters and things down from my ceiling and walls and door. My room looks so bare and I choked up a couple times. Found some old colouring pictures, old photos of Aaron (still get a twinge when I see them), lots of random things I want to keep and some I'm happy to toss away.
It just feels so final. I know that since I'll never live at home again, it is final. But I've spent over fifteen years in that room and those four walls house my safe haven. Soon I'll be tossed out into the world to find another safe place, somewhere to call home (at least temporarily until I really find my Home). It's a good thing in a way. This isn't my home, not anymore, not like it so was before.
I'm already gone. Now I just need to make that possible.