Backpacks and Running Ingines

I feel

Like I live out of a backpack. I have always felt like that. When I was younger, home wasn't a home for me so I ran. I ran to the closest friends house with two backpacks, one with school supplies and the other with clothes. I guess I never grew out of it. I guess it wasn't home that wasn't a home it was myself that wasn't a home. When I ran I tripped into others problems, sorrows, and worries and it made me not have to focus on my own. Meaghan doesn't exist if she is to busy camouflaging herself. I like not thinking. Not worrying about myself because I have others to worry about. If I sit to long with myself I start to get angry, to dislike everything. I have to have a distraction, a way of not thinking about me and what I want. I live out of a backpack that is refillable once my clothes get dirty or my shampoo runs out. As I got older the friends turned into boyfriends, one of the backpacks turned into a purse, and the house I started running from was my empty apartment. I couldn't be alone. Let me rephrase that, I cant be alone. Alone time means focusing and thinking about my life. Analyzing things I just cant stand to analyze. I don't want to disappoint my family, and if I disappointed a boyfriend or friend I could care less. I just needed an attachment. An extra limb so to speak. The frustrating thing about half the problems in my life is that I understand them. I know what I am doing when I do it. I know why I do it. I just don't know how to change it. Its like eating a candy bar when your on a diet, you know you shouldn't, you know what will happen if you do, but you eat it anyways. I am tired of eating candy bars. My life shouldn't be one that is lived out of a backpack, out of fear. I am getting exhausted of  packing and unpacking. I am exhausted from forgetting a brush or shoe. The problem is I like unstable, because well I guess I am unstable. My life has always been on a kilter, an edge of messiness and the act of holding it all together. Last night as I laid in my own bed, in my own actual house not a boyfriends or a friends house I realized that no matter how much I run, laying in my own bed in my house feels like home. I am comfortable, I can sleep without waking up. I don't have to worry if I forgot something in my mad rush of packing. I am home. Then I thought of all the ways that living out of a backpack has effected me. I am always driving, never sleeping, always worrying, my routine gets thrown off,and I put off my family. I don't think living out of a backpack has ever benefited me. It has just hidden me. It has become hard to separate myself from what part of me is real and which part has become me because of how willing I am to sacrifice parts of me for others. My life hasn't been about me, I am not sure what my hobbies are. I am not sure what I like to do on Sunday afternoons. All I know is that I have lived out of a backpack full of nothing but clothes and hidden secrets. I don't want to do it anymore. I want to become stable, to be able to tell people my hobbies, my wants and for them to be considered. I have put others before me, boyfriends, friends for way to long. Its to the point now where I believe I have turned them selfish. They ask and ask more of me than I can give, that I am willing to give. The question always is how much can you take? How much can you handle? My answer is no more. I cant handle more, I cant handle anymore asking for favors, any more asking for forgiveness, any more sacrificing myself and I shouldn't have to. People who love you wont ask you to live out of a backpack, they wont expect more of you than they know you can give. I think its time to throw away my backpack and find myself.