First day of moving in

I wanted to run back home. To MY home or what now is my old flat.

All of a sudden, when I turned in the keys and took away the last things out of there, it dawned on me that there is nowhere else for me to go. That I am trapped in that house for the next 6 months - at least.

With a boy that I have only been seeing in the weekends, mostly at his place. Where I always knew I can leave any time. Or that, every Sunday, I would go back to my place. My room, my space and my life.

I was escaping the daily routine and work and mundane things in the weekend to this place that I was not in any way stressed about. I didn’t need to clean, keep it tidy, find or so anything. We almost always had takeaway or eating randomly. But I always knew I could get into my car and leave, if I wanted to. It was my choice and under my control – where I was and for how long. I was fun, and care free and didn’t really care for much. I was chilled. I liked myself that way.

Now all that is gone. The new place is a mess, with stuff lying around everywhere. I cannot find anything, there is no pre-determined place for any of my stuff. A boy is messy and un-organised. I am stressed and upset and feel on the verge of breaking apart every other hour or so. I hate myself this way.

I just wanted to run. We were in our bed for the first night and I was trying hard not to cry. Out of fear for what the hell I was getting in. Angry with myself for thinking such negative things. Scared that I was so happy with our relationship before moving in and now I don’t know if that is going to destroy us or not.