2 or More's a Crowd.

I have always prided myself on being a very independent person.  I moved out of my parents house for the first time when I was 18 years old.  And though 6 months of that was spent in college - the other 7.5 years of my life since has been a rather gypsy-like tour of the western suburbs by myself and my cat, Charlie.  We lived in crappy apartments, beautiful apartments I couldn't afford, a house with a bunch of 21 year old boys, a boyfriend's basement, a house with a husband and wife and two beautiful daughters, another house with some very straight-edged female nursing students, and now, a small 2 bedroom house that I actually call home.  Of all of those places previously mentioned, I don't consider any really a home to me.  They were places I lived, but never home.

When I first moved into this house, it was definitely not a home.  I shared the house with a wonderful roommate, and our collective 2 cats, and though the circumstances were far improved from my previous living arrangements, I was not comfortable in my own skin, let alone the roof over my head.  I went through the motions and packed up my bags when it was time to leave here, ready and willing to move on to the next gray place I can survive in until something more stable happened.  But a series of stressful, yet retrospectively wonderful, events occurred in which I couldn't leave this house.  And though I was terrified of what and when my next move would be (physically and emotionally), I felt like I finally had a second to catch my breath.

I've been in this house for 2 years.  I've been alone in it for just over 1.  And I can honestly say of the person I have become and of the things I have accomplished in that amount of time, the thing I am most proud of is this house.  It is the place I can run away to every night and turn off the world.  Nothing makes me happier than having the ability to come home after work, pour a glass of wine, and shamelessly dance around my living room singing into a remote controller.  I can literally disappear for days and not have to talk to a single person or deal with a single problem.  I also have a place friends can get away to.  The ones that have parents, or roommates, or significant others - this is there place to hide.  And if I extend that feeling of relaxation and comfort I absolutely will, to everyone I can, every time. 

My social-sphere has shifted over the last year, vastly.  I have a new best friend and we spend a shit ton of time together.  And I wouldn't change it for the world.  The best moments of the last 7 months have been with her.  She spends a lot of time at my place, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Then there is the other best friend who has been the only person I have consistently spent time with for close to 5 years now.  And we are used to seeing each other a good amount of time during the week.  It's my unwinding time.  We can sit on the couch and watch tv the same way I would if I wasn't drinking and dancing.  We talk sometimes, laugh a lot, and I wouldn't give up not one minute of those moments we spend together during the week.  Throw in a spattering of social events with the other close friends here and there, and the countless hours lost with HSF, and my place to hide is no longer.

So I have been evaluating what the appropriate balance is.  When do I say stop and take back the place I could draw the blinds and pretend things weren't hard and stressful and avoid dealing with reality?  Reality is sleeping in the guest room, or on the couch, or most recently in bed next to me.  I don't want to sacrifice the relationships I have created, and the memories I have been able to have by making this house my home.  And on the other end of that I don't want to stop having a fail-safe mode in which this home is the only place I can give my head and heart a break from everything.

I don't want to hide anymore.  I do want to continue to feel independent, and that this house that I have worked so hard to make my home remains as such.  But I know a lot of my frustration and overall overwhelmed feeling comes from that fear of being with people, being with someone, and not having countless hours to blame myself, hate myself or choose to feel nothing.  Being with people isn't bad.  Having a circle of family and friends that love you and want to spent time with you is nothing to be complaining about.  But I do need to schedule in a bit more "me time" for the sake of my sanity and for the only cardio I'm really getting from all that dancing around the living room (maybe with Jason Mraz, in my head, just a little).  I'm just having a little trouble finding my footing in feeling independent and not having that mean alone.