Change: surprise bitch

When I was younger, I wanted to rearrange the furniture in my tiny bedroom for the first time. I plotted out which wall the bed would hug, where the dresser and the toy chest would squeeze into like a Sims 3 game. My sister helped and as we were turning the bed frame and a wave of fear crossed over me. I cried out, “Stop! I want to put it back!” I was embarrassed—the look on my sisters face was further proof that I was being irrational. What was I crying over? We both didn’t know.

You can’t talk about depression and anxiety without change. Anxiety roots itself in a place of feeling out of control. When our lives are shifting, it’s like everything is slipping from our grasp. I hated change; I hated the threat of moving into a new house, leaving all our buried pets in the backyard, starting college despite my intense high school loathing.

When I was rearranging, I was letting in more change than just a more cohesive closet-to-mirror feng shui. I was taking something that was my parents, the room and the furniture, and making it mine. I was adding my own personal style; I was taking one step closer to getting older. But I didn’t want that. I felt the change of growing up and that fucking terrified me.

Nowadays, I move furniture around like a nutball. My friends know to expect a new living room arrangement every time they come over. I’ve found great comfort in changing things up, keeping it spicy.

I change my hair a ton. I grow it long and then I chop it off. I

But change still looms over me like a depression ghost ready to shoot me in the ass with sad bullets. When I started a new internship this past semester I was cringing like a bad ASMR video below all the excitement of new opportunity. Something that is supposed to bring me relief – professional development! – gave me stress dreams. The overwhelming thought of a switch from my comfortable life that I know – the routine of three classes, two jobs, one schedule – had me stuck in an American Horror Story-like hell.

I’ve been at my internship for three months now and I’ve found comfort in the additional schedule. But in two weeks another change will happen, the biggest change in my life yet — a real life.

No more school. No more homework. No more books forced on me (unless I get a dream editor job ❤ hook a girl up). I’ll be an actual person, undefined by classroom stresses. And I’m actually very excited. I’m ready for a motherfucking change.