Bad news: I didn’t get the house.
Good news: No one else was chosen over me.
Unpredictable news: The guy who lived in the house got last-minute mortgage help from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, so the bank stopped the short sale.
Of course I’m devastated. Everyone told me not to get my hopes up, and I told everyone “too fucking late.” I sobbed and sobbed yesterday. Then I awoke this morning feeling drained and depressed.
It feels like I got dumped by a boyfriend. Being in a longterm relationship for almost 10 years, I had forgotten this feeling… The tears, the questions, the feeling of general “unfairness,” and the fear that no other house will ever be as perfect for me. Then the calm of acceptance… and then the circle of grief again.
I know in my head that there, of course, will be a next house. But I just don’t know when. I could be tomorrow, but it could be in a year or more. But to go from happy excitement, with a future full of possibilities, to this emptiness is rough. My mind searches and searches for a thing to focus on, for a happy goal to work over as I pass the time, and, finding nothing, I go back to el depresso mode. It’s basically the mental version of my home search on Redfin.
If I focus on the good in this situation, I can still be proud that I saw something and attempted to go after it. I channeled my inner bad-ass, and accomplished everything I needed to, in order to have a chance at my dream. (I even finally changed my last name with the Social Security office, after six years of laziness.) For that I am proud of myself.