Truths

Feel The Burn (No, This Isn’t About Politics!!!)

As we speak . . .

Err, let me try that again.

As I type, a disgruntled, mostly mediocre writer hidden in the confines of her room corner accompanied only by the L.E.D blaring of at 28 inch computer screen and the voices in her head, and as you read, I am steadily fighting the urge to buy the most useless crap I can find on Amazon.

I don’t need it.

I don’t need it.

I don’t need it.

I DON’T need it.

clenched-teeth

But . . .

I do.

Wants and needs are practically synonymous, right?

I have these obsessions occasionally. I think I spoke of one regarding pocket and chain watches. They come and go like the moon–so in that sense, they’re always there, I just don’t always see them.

In my teenage years I was obsessed with metal. I wore black every day, I had chains hanging from both sides of my pants, I had wrist bands, chokers, a collection of belts, and the shirts I wore were all band T-shirts. I didn’t like anything unless it was black, silver, or a dark blue. I liked to blend into the shadows.

It died off suddenly, replaced with science.

Now I’ve recently been fascinated with Gothic architecture, antique furniture, colored contact lenses, and Gothic decor.

85899c9123a757599789297215d28b0b

If you weren’t already aware, and if I have not shared this publicly, I am a miniature hoarder.

I say that because I’m not as active as some hoarders. Some go out to stores and buy the small little trinkets several times a week and surround themselves with those trinkets until they’re buried to their neck in them. Some collect junk off the street. Most see potential use in all of their items.

I do not have the means to buy trinkets everyday because I don’t have money and I am not comfortable outdoors. I lucked out. I think?

I do, however, pick up things from the street. For years I had them hanging on my room door until I had to take them down because they wouldn’t stick anymore. I don’t know where they are in this room anymore. I might have managed to throw them away.

I have cleaned my room a few times in the six years I’ve lived here, all massive cleanings due to family members from out of town coming in or a giant spider scaring me into them having egg sacks hidden around in corners of my room. Usually these cleanings were successful for a day or two, maybe even a week, and then my mind crumbles and I throw things where I can see them, otherwise I lose them.

This most recent cleaning was not near as successful as the others. My anxiety forced me to my knees on the ground, the hot flashes forced me into the hall every few moments and when I returned to the state of my room, the one place in the world where I am confined, alone, and myself as it was stripped down to its very core (meaning, you could actually see my floor), I shut down.

5075834918_e6d7e7b48e_bIf you spoke to me at that moment, I would only stare. Your words would have been muffled as my mind protected me from myself and the outside world. I was essentially a hollowed shell for a good thirty minutes. If I did respond to you, I would screech or throw something, which are the responses my mother elicited from me. Finally she realized how the panic was affecting me and said we’d done enough for the day. I felt an immediate wave of relief and went back to smiling and laughing a good ten minutes later.

I believe this mess I’ve accrued is partially a result of my scattered mind, of my need to have things accessible and within reach at all time, not tucked away in a drawer or hung up in a closet–what’s the point of all that? I have better things to do than worry about things that don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

I also believe it is attributed to a specific time in my childhood. When we were evicted those years back, the eviction that made us homeless, we kept what we could in a storage unit but many things we had to take to the dump. There was no ” we might be able to keep this”, it was simply discarded and forgotten and I had no control over it. I can’t remember much, it might have been a time where I was more anxious than I thought I was, but I can remember some trips to the dump, all the furniture we had to break down and throw away, including my bed. Although the furniture was just that, furniture, I didn’t get a lot of things as a child as it was, and now the majority of my stuff was either locked away and inaccessible or broken at the dump forever lost.

I started bringing things home from the dump with me. Toys and such, other things that weren’t damaged and just covered with a little soil, things I could wash off and potentially get some use from. At some point.

There are many things in my life I haven’t had control over, and one thing I can control in my room is how it looks.

Seems contradictory in a sense, seems like if my room is the only thing I can control, I would want it neat and tidy. But that’s not how my brain works.

My brain is not neat and tidy.

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If you have not seen Tidy Monster animation on YouTube, go watch it, I command thee.

My room is clean when I am on top of the world (or when I’m panicking about a spider egg sack). I’ve had moments where nothing mattered to me anymore, I was full of energy and I threw away all the things I didn’t need anymore, hundreds upon hundreds of papers (I’m not exaggerating) and I took every item out of my room–mattresses, dresser, large black television I have no use for anymore, three layer desk of which I’m sitting at right now, exercise bike of which I have no energy or space to actually put to use . . .everything,and got my hands and knees and scrubbed the walls, the corners, vacuumed, danced to music .  . .

I started at eight in the morning (after being up all night) and cleaned until 9 p.m.

That was the last deep clean my room had. The last ones have been small efforts until I get distracted and suddenly want to ride my bike to start training to become the next American Ninja Warrior or I get distracted by an article or philosophy or a million things.

I love my brain. But I’ll be damned if it’s not a workout to keep up with it sometimes.

 

About AlishiaDee (372 Articles)
Alishia D. is a blogger, a beginning novelist, and a counselor at 2nd Story Peer Respite house where diagnostic labels and the culture of mental health is long forgotten. She's a mental health peer who has bounced through as many labels as she has doctors, and enjoys being sarcastic when she can. She also hates writing in 3rd person.

9 Comments on Feel The Burn (No, This Isn’t About Politics!!!)

  1. Totally feel you on feeling like it’s a workout to keep up with your brain. Do you
    “suffer” with any schizophrenia symptoms? Not sure if I’ve already asked or not. It’s just I have paranoid schizophrenia, and you explain things so well. Also, colored contacts? me too! Just got a pair of all white Hopsin Contacts lol.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’ve been loosely told I do, but there hasn’t been much . . .hmmm . . .”investigation” into the matter besides a quickly thrown together schizotypal diagnosis ha. The only thing I haven’t experienced is a loss of sense of “Reality”. But I like to think that’s because I believe nothing I experience is real in the first place hahaha so, you know, I like throwing curve balls. And you lucky!!! I’ve been looking for those ones! I also found some amazing costume ones that have designs like skulls and things for the pupils. I would like to finish out college scaring the shit out of my professors. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. This helps so much to explain to me my fried’s inability to put things away. Not really hoarding in my opinion, just a part of her mental makeup. I hope this helps others as well. Thanks…I needed to understand it better and now I do.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I was hoping for a room pic to see how I am in comparison >.<

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hahaha! I totally would . . . but I don’t want the physical representation of insanity that is the mess in my room out on the world wide web 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      • Good point! I will take your word for it. On another note, it’s amazing what a childhood event involving loss of material things manifests as in our grown lives. We had a storage space looted with hand made ornaments and I’m not sure my mother ever came to grips with that! I, too, collect little things due to leaving things behind once too often. Props to you for sharing.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Absolutely, it really is. I only recently (I’m talking a couple days before that post) realized how much it has effected me. It’s hard when you have things taken from you without your consent and even though they’re just material items, I feel it’s the fact that you didn’t get a say in it that makes a sense of loss of control manifest into a kind of physical behavior of keeping things and cherishing items and all that good stuff. Thank you, and thanks for reading and commenting, I appreciate it 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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