#blacksheeplife

Anxiety is through the roof right now. Like, sky-high. Anything - literally anything - can set me off. The wrong word, the wrong glance, the wrong question. Boom - spiraling. And you know what? I’m done pretending I’m fine.

If you’re family, or acquaintance or friend of mine don’t come at me sideways.

Don’t be judgmental or try school me. Don't gaslight me with “intentions.” Right now, I need prayer, support, and help packing. if you a family That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. That all a family can be there for me for the packing and clean this apartment and settle in new house. And they can go by their own life.

This shitty thing happened to me: I lived here for five years. Five years of scraping by, surviving, breathing life into a space I made my own. I got this apartment in pure survival mode - when I was inches from being homeless. It wasn’t glamorous. It was tough. But it was mine. And now? I’m losing it.

Not because I failed. Not because I disrespected the blessing. But because life just... rips shit out of your hands sometimes, no matter how tightly you’re holding on.

I don’t need anyone’s judgment. I don’t need questions like, “Why are you moving so far?” I need a roof over my head, period. When you’re fighting to stay afloat, location snobbery doesn’t mean shit. Peace means more. Safety means more. Having fiber internet, a store nearby, buses and trains — that’s my checklist now. Not some fantasy about staying in the city that didn’t even have my back when I needed it most.

And y’all didn’t visit anyway. Five years. You came when it was convenient for you. Never for me.

I’m tired. I’m tired of carrying the weight of my own survival and dodging guilt trips at the same time. I tried to leave before, and my own mother told me, "talk me out of it and said won't find better." Bet your ass I did. Just not in the city I grow up in. Sacrifices have to be made when you want peace more than you want proximity.

Even my landlord was sad about this when they gave me the news. Said I was the best and the most nicest and honest person tenant they ever had. Always pay rent on time no drama no sound nothing and super disciplined and amazing communication

Told me not to ever think this was my fault. It’s not because I was bad — it’s because their daughter needed the space.

It’s not fair. It’s not right.

But that’s life. Sometimes it punches you in the teeth even when you were playing by all the rules.

And what makes it worse? This all hit me a WEEK before my birthday. Literally the worst month for it to happen.

Norway’s tough enough in April - weather’s still shitty, energy’s low, costs are high - and now I’m out here going to fighting for an apartment, stressing, packing, cleaning, moving.

Trying to hold my life together with bloody knuckles.I’ve got two debts I'm still paying off. almost debt free i had plan here.

One almost gone when come to my debt, but the other things dragging behind me like a broken chain. I had a plan - to stay, save up, and finally grab my own piece of the world. AKA house. So i just need do that from new place.

Now? That plan’s on fire. And I’m rebuilding from the ashes in real time. Packing after five years of my life a place i could finally call home feels like a funeral. Every box I tape shut is a goodbye. Every scrub of the floors is another goodbye.

And not a single person is here helping me carry the weight. I found this apartment in the blink of an eye — pure luck. I almost went homeless once, and I never want to feel that way again. If I don’t secure a new place within the next three months, I'm fucked. I have nobody to turn to.

My family always looks away when I need them, but expects me to show up when they need something. The second I told them what was happening, they all went super quiet. So no - I’m not going to feel bad, and I’m sure as hell not going to listen if they start bugging me about moving to a city far away from them.

MFERS - I lived near them for five years and they never visited ONCE. Mom only came around when it was convenient for her.

So honestly? I don’t give a fuck if I move far away. That’s exactly what I want - distance. They were never there for me anyway.

My dad was my safety net. When he passed, I lost the only parent who truly had my back. I’ve always been the black sheep of the family - just like he was.

Each time I moved, my dad was my rock. He helped however he could -even if it was just staying on the phone for an hour, believing in me, telling me I could do anything. He always said, "You can always come home when you need to."

When I lived in Oslo as a student, I was home at my parents for six months out of the year and at my own place for the other six. It worked because he was there, keeping the door open.

When he died, everything fell apart. Not even a month after he passed, my big sister threw me out. I haven’t spoken to her since.

When the cops showed up because of the drama my 3rd big sister caused, they said straight up:

"Y'all are shitty siblings. The fact that your mother - the elder of the house - didn’t even speak up? She just lost her father, and y’all couldn’t wait to toss her out." When you as sister don't even have right say anything in this matter you don't even live in this house. how can walk in here and make that call to toss her out. So they worry for my own safty and took me out of that fucking house put me into foster home for while til found my own place.

Exactly what the cops said. Word for word. that when i had find quickly apartment while living in foster home. which didn't last long and also this current apartment found in stress of moment too.

They waited for that moment - because while my dad was alive, they couldn’t touch me. He was my shield. My protector. The only parent who loved me for real, without conditions.

Anyone who tried to harm me had to get through him first. He protected his daughter like a wolf guarding his own - because he knew the jealousy that ran deep in that house.

I was his favorite - not because of favoritism, but because we understood each other. We were both black sheep. We were both honest, loyal, and respected each other.

I obeyed his house rules. I never acted out like my other sister, who had no respect for him or his home. I was one of his good daughters - like my other big sister was too, she got married and found her dream man.

And now here I am. Still standing. Still fighting.

Carrying it all without him. I had to build an entire wall around myself, because he used to be my wall. When he passed, that’s when I lost my purpose - my safety net.

I had to figure it out alone. But he raised me so well that I’m capable of carrying on without him. Even if it breaks me sometimes.

I haven’t moved on. Not really. just bottle all pain deep down. I refuse let him go! i will move on when i meet him again!

Life without him is still the hardest thing I faced. And this month - it always cuts the deepest. It just got a little worse this year - more stress, more weight stacked onto my shoulders. with this temporary i have to move out and find new apartment because in Norway these two months always hardest. And super expensive!

Life can throw every damn storm it wants - I’ll keep walking through it with pain.

Because I have no other choice. Because I believe - even on the days it feels like a joke - that somehow, somewhere, I’m headed toward something better i hope and wish for!

This isn’t the ending, i hope! It’s just another brutal, unfair chapter. That came out of my control!

And trust I'm gonna try survive this. Like I always do. Like I always fucking will.

It’s just... this is the last fucking thing I needed.

All this stress. Moving ain't no fun.

Even if I secure a new apartment, it’s the settling in that wrecks you - Getting used to a strange place, losing more sleep because everything feels unfamiliar. It’s like...

BOTTOM LINE: I am a turtle, a black cat (especially a rescue or stray), a hedgehog, and an owl - all rolled into one. I don’t just "adapt." I feel everything first, I analyze, I guard myself, and I only open up when the energy feels right.

That’s survival. That’s wisdom. That’s strength.

It takes time to get used to a new place. The first month is always the hardest - until the walls stop feeling foreign, until the silence stops feeling empty, until you finally feel home again.

Xo.