That’s how I feel: there’s something I need to say goodbye to but nothing else is going to appear in this place, or at least nothing positive.

There will be unpaid bills and angry phone calls from my brother. Mum will never cook pierogi for me again. I’m unlikely to ever sleep in my family home again and if I do it won’t be a pleasant experience. I will probably never even have a cup of tea there.

I think my photo album from when I was 18 is there. It feels like a symbol, like I left a piece of me there. Tough, I’m not going back to get it. Maybe I’ll have a chance later but if not, I’ll have to live without. And do I actually need my photos from that time? I was not very happy at 18. I was not very happy most of my life, but I have some memories of good times.

When I was 16, second year of secondary school was good. I was doing well at school, without much effort, I managed to keep my weight stable and I had some good friends. I coped. Up until the end of summer school holiday when I suddenly felt like everything is falling apart again, like if I only thought that I coped but I didn’t. Like if everyone else was more sorted than me.

Those feelings come and go on a regular basis. I think I’m a good girlfriend, friend, student, colleague and I’m being treated like one and then everything changes and I can’t get that feeling back. It could be for example that a new colleague joins the company and all the group dynamic changes and I don’t know what to do with myself any more. It seems like the same jokes that we used to share are not allowed any more, the topic of conversations are suddenly different and I feel out of place. But if I ever mention that to anybody, they’ll most likely say I’m just jealous, that’s it. But I am trully not. I just don’t know what to do with myself.

I’m just not good with change. Everyone else around seems to be able to effortlessly grasp the new dynamic while for me it feels like I need to learn a new language from scratch.

And now I need to deal with another change: an aging parent and an addict brother. It feels like mum is slowly disapearing and my brother is replacing her. Will I get my photos back? My books? The translation of my psychiatric record from the time of my first psychotic episode? It’s on top shelf of my mum’s wardrobe. I’d need it if I ever want to take Home Group to court again.

I’m on the train to Kraków. I’ll be there for 2 days and nothing, absolutely nothing will ever be the same again.