A New Begining?

           Well, it's been six months since my husband suddenly died and my life has gone through numerous changes during this period. I've tried dating, but I have yet to find anyone who rings my chimes. Up until one week ago I was living in a small studio apartment that was much like living in my bedroom before Robert died, and so I felt safe and secure in my little cave. Then, my housing came through and my life took a major turn.

        The packing period before the move was the worst time in my life I think, as it brought up every relocation, every major trauma from my past. On the other side of the coin was the fact that I would be moving into a bigger place and would soon be surrounded with the things of Robert's and my life. Not only was it going to be hard to go through everything, but it was going to be a must that I get rid of lots and lots of stuff. You see, I was moving all the things that we had crammed into our two bedroom, 2 bath, 2 story condo that was approximately 1200 square ft., into a 164 square ft., one bedroom, one bath apartment.

        This meant that I could not just store boxes anywhere they would fit, because they wouldn't. This meant that I had to go through every single box, some of which had not been gone through since '89, and toss the junk and keep the rest. This would be no mean feet under any circumstances, but especially under the ones I found myself in. I know I had things in boxes that belonged to my daughter when she was an infant and she's 24 years old now. I had things from my first dead husband, who was also one of the great loves of my life. Tons of toys and stuffed animals that belong to my alters, tons and tons of stuff, boxes and boxes of stuff! I was soon to be adrift in a sea of boxes!

        As the move drew closer I felt like it was a freight train barreling down at me, and I was frozen in my spot and had no way to get out of it's way. At this point, my youngest child alter, "Kissy" as her daddy called her, Chrystlyn being her original name, cut off all my hair. She didn't do it with a scissors she did it with an electric trimmer. In short, no pun intended, it's a crew cut. This was so very devastating to me. Every time I passed a mirror I wanted to cry. I looked like a refugee from a prison camp. Add that to the mounting terror of a trainload of boxes accelerating toward me and you have one huge panic attack!