I moved in with Joey on Saturday.
Really, I’ve been living with him since late last year (November-ish), but I kept my apartment for a couple of reasons:
- I didn’t want to lose my security blanket. If I needed to bolt for any reason, I’d always have my apartment.
- By the time I realized I didn’t need the security I’d been latching to, it didn’t make anymore sense to break my lease than it did to keep it and move my remaining belongings over to his house slowly (the cost was the same).
But my lease ends on the last day of the month, and we’re heading out-of-town again (last month we went to a wedding in Vegas) on Friday (this month we’re heading to Clearwater Beach to visit some friends), so last weekend was moving weekend. Bobby and Lisa came to help us. B is Joey’s best friend and Lisa is his wife. They have become my friends, too. And I’m so very thankful for them taking time out of their weekend to help me move the heaviest of my belongings.
Now that we are two days out of the ‘big’ move, at any given moment I find myself feeling many things. I’m excited, I’m scared, I’m anxious, and I’m thrilled, but the thing that stands out most, more than any of those one emotions, is…
That I love a man more deeply, more equally and independently, than I ever thought possible. And he loves me with the same conviction.
I’ve stopped using pseudonyms for other people in my blog. Joey is really Joey. Bobby and Lisa aren’t fake names. I’m thinking it’s time to start calling myself by my real name, too, but I keep asking myself if this blog could continue on with a new owner, or if I should start fresh. Rebuild. With new followers and a new life, one that’s far less about therapy and more about putting into practice what I learned through therapy sessions. About living, as opposed to learning how to live again. There is a difference, and I’m so glad I’ve learned this.