When I opened my eyes this morning, even as the night was a bit delicate at times and even half a doxylamine did not knock me out enough to immediately fall asleep, I felt like I was safe.
It's probably the first time in a long time I've felt truly safe where I was. I did feel like this at my mom's place when I was still there in the last month or so, but… it doesn't quite compare to how you feel when you're in a place where it's you and only you. Where your door being locked is no problem, and it's even... normal, even as I only lock it at night or when I'm out of the quarters. Where nobody worries or comments on changes in your routine.
One of the main reasons I'm the kind of person to keep a rigid routine is because I'm afraid people will comment on me "changing" or "not doing things as usual". Where you can eat at 6:30pm and nobody will bat an eye. Not that my mom would shit me for locking my door, but if I do anything unusual, she'll definitely notice. I remember how as a child I would eat even as I wasn't quite feeling it because missing a meal would be a sign of illness or have a "aren't you eating?" and the remark would stress me out. So I always did my best not to ever change anything to my usual behaviour. Even if it meant getting stuck in a rigid pattern.
I laid there for a while, quietly, listening to the white noise of the mess kitchens outside. It wasn't pitch black, my blinds were slightly open. That's when the thought hit me.
"I'm safe here".
It was around 7:30am. Given that I went to bed early yesterday night, turned off my laptop and stopped reading Reddit on my phone round 10pm, I had the lights out by 10:30. Didn't fall asleep until a while, woke up in the middle of the night after a dream, looked up a name of someone in said dream but of course, nobody is called like that (who would name their kid after a sleeping pill anyway? lol), and then went back to bed.
It's not very usual for me to wake up this early. Nor to even go to bed at that time, for that matter. I'm usually one to sleep around midnight or the wee hours of the morning rather than before. But since I have no internet or very little to keep me awake, added to the fact I was dead tired those past few days, I guess my rhythm shifted a little.
But this Sunday morning, I felt this sense of safety washing all over me. Tomorrow is my first day of work for that two month contract. I'll receive a little knitted fox and a poster from Vinted soon.
The thing though, there's so many things that you take for granted when you live at someone's place that you literally forget to buy when you're getting settled by yourself. Like… a fucking clothes dryer. Or a pair of scissors. Or bandages. Or flip-flops for wandering about in the building without putting on actual shoes. Or… a screwdriver. I've been trying to mount a desk fan for three days and they aren't even providing a screwdriver or a spanner. Basically, if you're on your own without tools, fuck you! The damn thing's going to drive me crazy before summer comes, I swear.
But little by little, I get settled in like it's my home. Maybe because in a sense, even if it's brief, it IS my home after all.
Oh by the way, should mention it before I forget: I actually don't feel as much pressure to sleep well. Why? Lack of commute. I can be dead tired and not risk crashing my car, hitting a curb and exploding my tire, or puking on the bus (has never happened to me to so far, and I sincerely hope it stays that way, that would be the ultimate humiliation nightmare for me). I can be absolutely knackered and just drag my ass to work, do it in a half-comatose state, and then go back to my cave and crash on my bed and read or listen to music, waiting for sleepy time.
Plus nobody is going to throw a barb or an injunction at me, gaslight me when I understandably react to it, and argue in a circular manner until I break into tears, screams of pain, or run outside in the cold shaking and barely able to calm down.
It really changes everything, doesn't it?
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