Home is Where the Heart is, Right?

…wherever you go, there you are.

Living with my ex-boyfriend for over a month after our expiration date, I chose my new apartment, a grandiose (overpriced) studio nestled into the front of an eye-catching, bright blue Victorian right smack in the middle of The City for a few reasons. First, the place was absolutely beautiful. Every detail had been carefully thought out. The intricate moldings were serving up some serious character and the joint was overflowing with sunlight. Second, there seemed to be a very Tales of the City vibe to the people who live in the building, with the 70 year-old Anna Madrigal-esque landlord seeking to create an eccentric community that would make Armistead Maupin proud. A perfect backdrop for the next chapter of my life that’s currently being written. Plus, it came with a parking space. A very tight one, but being in the epicenter of San Francisco, that was a pretty big plus.

As moving day approached, I had packed all my things in boxes, selectively choosing which plant babies I would gain custody of in the “divorce.” I did a final lap around the place, soaking up my last moments in a home that I not only loved but was obsessed with for the past three years. I felt so at home here, even after the break-up. Leaving all the heavy lifting to an on-demand moving service, within hours I was in my new space. One big huge room, partitioned only by alcoves. Pale pink walls enveloped me, a dramatic chandelier hung staunchly over my head, firmly attached to the sky blue hued ceiling. Outside, cars were speeding down Guerrero Street, one of The City’s busier roads that zips from Market Street all the way through The Mission. First things first, I quickly created my altar, white sage-d the shit out of that motherfucker and meticulously arranged all my crystals. It’s called priorities, people. The next few hours were spent energetically unboxing and putting things away, until I almost fell over I was so tired. Laying in my bed, I flipped on the cable TV that came gratis with the apartment and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, as the rising sun streamed in the cracks of the golden velvet curtains, backlighting my blonde bedhead, it all hit me. Everything I had let go of, all the feelings I had been “holding together” for the last few months as I confidently took each step away from the familiar, erupted in a moment. Triggered by the unknown dank, musty scent of my new apartment, laced with traces of stale cigarette smoke wafting in from next door, my heart exploded. I hurled myself into the fetal position where I unabashedly heaved and cried, breaking every minute or so only to let out a small whimper. In my pursuit of releasing everything that didn’t “feel right” I was left completely bare, naked and seemingly alone in a smelly, loud place that I did not recognize as my home. The earth under me was nowhere to be found and in a state of free-falling I went into a panic. My chest constricted and I dizzily began to grasp for some security in the safety of my ever-present breath.

After a good twenty minutes of this emotional tsunami, in an effort to distract myself and normalize, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door to Best Buy to purchase a new Apple Airport wifi router. As I drove under the freeway, towards my old house, the anxiety reached a fever pitch and it became the only place I wanted to go. And, to be honest, I almost did. A vision of safety appeared in my mind and it was me sitting on our couch, drinking lemon water and watching bad TV in a place that was familiar to me. My home. But the truth was, that wasn’t my home anymore. So I veered away from my mind’s survival tactic and instead took the next right turn, pulling into the parking lot of the electronics superstore where I immediately asked for help and walked out with what I came for.

The following night as the sky became darker and the clock crept towards midnight, I felt trapped, terrified and completely alone. Had I made a huge mistake moving in here? I could not escape the faint smell of smoke that kept hitting my nostrils. It reminded me of my past, a childhood and adolescence that was filled with that scent. Being one large room without a ton of Feng Shui approved options, my big Queen-size bed faced the door to the hallway. They call this the “coffin” or “dead man” position because when you lie down, your feet are facing the door, symbolic of how the dead are carried from the house through open doors. Then I began spiraling, quickly. When I was drinking, anxiety attacks were run of the mill occurrences (…which I treated with alcohol and benzos) but I hadn’t experienced this level of panic in a long time. Palms sweating, short of breath and sure that I was going to die in this apartment and no one was ever going to know, I desperately tried to calm myself down with all my tools. Nothing was working. I began frantically texting my two friends who live close by to see if they could come over. After a few minutes, one of them answered my cry for help and, since she was currently in Los Angeles, hopped on the phone with me. I couldn’t catch my breath and my stream of consciousness was wavering. She instructed me to call my best friend and wake her up and if that didn’t work, go to the hospital. It was the middle of the night. I blew up my friend’s (and her husband’s) phone and when she finally picked up I told her I needed her to come over, it was an emergency. She quickly hopped in a Lyft and in the meantime, I stuck my head out the window and focused my attention on the moon. I saw her pull up on the empty street and greeted her at the front door. Both in our pajamas, she gave me a hug, gathered me and my pillows and took me to her house. Phew, I was safe.

Two days into moving in my shiny new place, I stayed with my friend and her family for a week. An anxious, emotional mess, I holed up in my sweatpants on her couch, demanding daily hugs from my godson whose bedroom I had taken over. I was convinced that my new apartment was cursed and not the right fit for me. “The city is too intense, you need to live in the woods,” I started telling myself. I carelessly began looking online for new housing. That’s when it popped up: “A-Frame House in the Berkeley Hills,” a dream rental for just over $4,000. I quickly texted my friend in New York City who was planning to move back to the Bay in a month and told her I had found us our new home. I set up a viewing for that weekend and began filling out all the paperwork so we could submit our application on the spot. The listing was that freaking good.

Since I had access to an elusive printer at my friend’s house, I also took the opportunity to print out a few other important documents, including a psychiatric intake form. With the ever-present anxiety and threat of panic attacks traumatizing me since my move, my therapist and I had begun discussing medication to get my bearings during this major transition and so I made an appointment with a doctor later that week to evaluate my situation and explore options.

As I headed over the bridge to the East Bay, I had faith that if this ridiculously gorgeous A-Frame in the woods was my destiny, that I would live there and released the outcome to my higher power. Windows down, I winded up the back roads through the Berkeley Hills until I reached the destination. A cascade of wooden steps led down to a perfectly hidden house surrounded by serene nature. An older couple met me at the door and quickly took me through each room: bedrooms with walls of windows where the green trees glistened in the afternoon sun, a vintage fireplace that doubled as a pizza oven, and then out to the multi-level deck for the pièce de résistance, a fully functional wooden hot tub. I need to live here. After the week I’d had, it was clear this place had been sent directly to help heal my spirit. Chatting with the owners, I put my publicist hat back on and pitched myself hard, doing my very best song and dance (…seriously, I literally danced for them so they wouldn’t forget me in the sea of interested candidates) and colored them impressed when I handed them a stack of papers including all the necessary paperwork to move forward.

Later that night, as I was lying in bed looking up at the ceiling of my godson’s room covered in glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars and canoodling his stuffed animals, a huge feeling of panic came over me. I abruptly sat up. I was seeing the doctor over the next few days, where did I put that intake form? I looked over on the chair where all my stuff was. No papers. Then it hit me. In the midst of my spinning, anxious fear-laden existence, I had filled out all the forms, put them in a pile and completely forgot to separate them. I had just given the potential landlord of my new dream home a form detailing all my mental health issues over my thirty six years, any problems I’ve had with law enforcement (…and I was quite the wild child, so there have been a few) and disclosed the fact that I am a recovering alcoholic. Are you effing kidding me? Did I really do that? Let’s just say, I didn’t hear back from him.

Early the next morning, I had plans to go to Ecstatic Dance (a freeform, open movement series that I’ve been dying to check out) and even though I really wanted to cancel, threw on some clothes and made my way to the front door. As I opened it onto the street, my car was no longer where I parked it. I went into the living room and through tears told my friend and she leapt up and went to the neighbors to see if they had any information. It had been towed, they told her. Some crabby old man in the hood gets off on towing people in the red zone in front of his house, even if they aren’t blocking the drive-way. They were positive that’s what happened. I dialed up the tow yard and, sure enough, my poor little white Volkswagon Jetta was there.

There I was, busy at work making tons of quick decisions based in self-centered fear, while something much bigger than me intervened and was like fuck no. You can’t run away from this. I will not allow it.

I retrieved my car (take all my money, why don’t you SFMTA) and instead of going to dance, I met my friend and confessed to her that I was so tired and that even though I love my friends and their families, all I really wanted was some alone time and to feel safe in my new home. She then helped me see what I was craving all along. She straight up mothered me hard, taking me to Bed Bath & Beyond and holding my hand while I got all the things that would help put an end to the smell in my apartment and then took me into nature to lay among trees, grounding myself and reconnecting to my one true home — my body and my soul.

In an effort to be strong and independent, I was trying to do everything by myself. The universe forced me into my support system when I desperately needed them but didn’t know how to ask. What drove me back to my house when I finally went back? I really wanted to be alone.

That night I went back to my new place and began mothering myself in the way I needed to feel safe. I took small steps: I went grocery shopping. I set up my air purifier. I got all my favorite candles and burned a ton of incense. I took a bath. I put a wall of plants in between my bed and the door, redirecting the negative energy. I created boundaries with my neighbor. Then bigger ones: I asked for help. I comforted myself when I cried. I rubbed my forehead as I was falling asleep. I held myself.

A few days after I was getting reacquainted with my new home, I saw a piece of outgoing mail near the mailbox that read “Return to sender, deceased” with an address that matched mine exactly. Wait, did someone die in my apartment? That actually makes sense, I thought to myself. There was some seriously heavy energy in there. Then like a beam of light, the answer came to me. It wasn’t my new place that I was uncomfortable with, it was what was coming up inside of me. Surfacing were old fears from my childhood that needed my attention. With absolutely no distractions, the channel was clear and I was my most vulnerable, making me ready to finally receive the messages — and more importantly, heal them — and let go. When my home (heart and soul) is filled with love, I am always safe.