This wasn't the plan, I was supposed to be living my best life

Crushing breakup. Moving away to uni. Reality hitting. Sleeping around. Crying. Fear. Excitement for a vibrant future. Falling in love with myself and a new city. But still under the unshakeable control of negative emotions a good few months on. Attempting to meet in hometown. Clawing at a friendship. Refusal on their part. Realising that their presence contributes only negative energy. Finally beginning to genuinely move on. Happiness and stability come slowly crawling back. Coronavirus mentioned on the news - it’s a far away impossibility. Mentions of a lockdown. I’m scared to lose my progress. Being forced to move back to family home. Worry. Devastating return of the poor mental health I feared so much. Struggling to deal with the rawness of painful memories that never quite managed to fully heal. Trying to reach out again. Knowing this only makes things worse. Finally ceasing contact. Bad times. The incessant bad dreams won’t stop, despite my forward steps. Attempting to explain my mentality to worried family. The arguments. What about therapy? I wouldn’t know where to start. Reclaiming my space. Disgusting tinder matches. Tinder matches that go nowhere. 10 promising talking stages always ending with disappointment. Trying to embrace my position. Wanting to romanticise my position. Losing motivation and any sense of direction. Guilt. Never escaping the thinking over of past decisions and events. A promising and different feeling tinder match followed by an accidental hookup. Covid related guilt but mainly selfish happiness - the return of stability and an exciting and fulfilling connection? It didn’t go anywhere, of course it didn’t! It was only casual, you silly! The kind of casual where mutual respect and communication is an optional extra. The ever present spiral of nitpicking at my own characteristics & searching for the reasons behind every single rejection. Not wanting to need another to feel validated ironically doubled alongside my inability to escape the clutches of the very human need for intimacy. Manic phases and random blocking sprees. Once again linking all failed connections to the original lost lover. Why can’t I stop TALKING about it? I want to but I just can’t. Anger and paralysing jealously of happy couples, especially those of my dearest friends. Questioning the morality behind my own futile frustrations. Feeling like a fucking CHILD in my family home and I can’t get away. How to get help? Scary. Too many thoughts all the time. This confusion and frustration has outstayed its welcome. I don’t think it’s formative anymore. This wasn’t the plan, I was supposed to be living my best life. I move back next week. Relying on a change of scene and not so long-off change of situation so I can finally thrive in the way my long-ago self used to.