So, when I envisioned this blog, I talked about wanting to talk about the truth of the struggle we each have. I’m not sure that I truly understood the meaning or ramifications of the word ‘truth’. I know that it is a word that we toss around a lot but I don’t think I have ever really considered the word, not in any strong way. I just used it as a synonym for fact. But, while it may be slightly true, that doesn’t really capture the word. Not in its entirety.
Fact: Until recently, I was homeless and have just recently gotten an apartment after almost 5 years of living on couches and streets. Truth: In my head, I’m still homeless. That’s just an example.
The fact is I’m not homeless. I’m sitting in my living room, writing this blog post with my cat, High King Margo, Destroyer of Worlds, laying ever so peacefully under one of the chairs taking a nap. But I’m still that homeless guy that slept on benches and bathrooms (when I needed to escape the weather) and sat at libraries or movie theaters to pass the time while I wasn’t at one of my jobs. And I sit here, my second month of being in a home, and I haven’t really done anything to make it a home.
Because I can’t shake the feeling that it’s temporary.
I haven’t filled my refrigerator because deep down, in parts that I don’t often visit, I’m afraid that it’ll all go to waste. Because somehow, I’ll screw everything up. Like I often do. I haven’t bought any real furniture. Just enough for me to get buy. No bed to lay my head on, just blankets on the floor or a comfy chair to lay back in. Now, if you ask me, I’ll say it’s because I don’t need the amenities. But the truth, the thing that is so hard to admit, is that I love sleeping in a bed. But if I get a bed, I can lose that bed.
Harder still to admit: that terrifies me.
That fear is paralyzing. It causes me to sit in the apartment with Margo as company. I say it is because I don’t really like people. I don’t. Not most people. But the truth is that I’m afraid to try and lose everything again.
That truth is at the root of many things. My depression, which on the surface looks like laziness but the fact is, I’m not a lazy person. Apparently, I’m a scared little wuss.
Oh, how the truth does hurt.
But, I’ll let that be for today. Tomorrow, I won’t have time for fear. When the sun rises, I’ll get up. I’ll take my shower that I have not done in days, saying that soaks in the bathtub are just as good. I’ll give Margo a quick play and run out the door, leaving my fear in the back of my mind. And it won’t be courage that propels me out the doorway. No, it’ll actually be Margo. She doesn’t have time for my bullshit. She’s utterly dependent on me. And I have to wake up tomorrow to make sure she has cat food and a roof over her head.
Tomorrow is a new day.