The Couch...

This might just be the weirdest entry ever. You are forewarned.

I've been sleeping on the couch in our living room. I'm not sure what led to this, or why I've remained so since arriving home four nights ago, but I have. I can't say I understand it much either. I'm a bed person. A big, comfy, warm, memory foam mattress, bed person. However, there is something about my room at home that just doesn't feel quite as such. It doesn't feel like home, it doesn't feel like a space that is mine. It feels empty. I cannot connect to it. My old room, which my brother now occupies, that room was home. I can sometimes hardly bring myself to walk through the door to "my" room. I hate the feeling I get when I walk inside. Or the lack of feeling. The room feels like a void, an empty, cold, vacuum. I need warmth. I need a connection.

So, I've taken up residence on the couch. Next to the bright Christmas tree, with the front door 20 feet from me, with the windows without the blinds, in the house that makes noises in the middle of the night. That's where I am. Now, for those of you who don't know me, I'm terrified of robbers. Or rather, any kind of invader into my space. It scares me, always has. I sleep with the door closed tight to keep out the bad guys, a fan to block out any noises, in the pitch black so I can't see things even if they were there. That's who I am. All of the sudden though, here I am, in this big living room, and I feel oddly, at home. I feel safe. I'm not sure why, or how, but being here, makes me feel right. Maybe it's this couch. My Grandma slept on it every single night since they bought it. Every single one. Even her last one. Maybe that's why it makes me feel safe, like a big warm hug from her, holding me tight like she used to when I was sick or scared.

But I'm not sick or scared. I'm content. I'm happy. I'm at peace with myself. I was thinking about that today, and I even almost mentioned it to my mom. But she would make fun of me, so I didn't. But, I'm happy. And I really, really love my life. That's weird for me. Recently, it pops into my head all the time, "Wow, I freaking love my life". All the time. Ever since this summer, its been happening. And I like it. So maybe, just maybe, this is me stepping forward. No longer needing that protection from things unknown or unseen. Maybe this is me growing up, moving on. And maybe, this warm, comfy, soft, Grandma loved couch is a little nudge from her in the right direction. She may not be here, but I know she sees it. The change. Sometimes I feel like I can feel her smiling. When I'm proud of myself, when I feel joy, when I admit to myself that I love my life now more than ever, I think I can feel her inside smiling right along with me. Maybe this is what it feels like, peace, and love. If so, I want it. And I want it every single day for the rest of my life. And as a promise to myself, that's what I'm going to strive for.

Because maybe, just maybe, that's what I'm meant to do.