Movin’ On Up

I am so obnoxiously disorganized. This is a major point of difficulty in my life. I like things and get distracted quite easily and tend to collect chaos and great bundles of clashing nonsense wherever I go. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I hoard things, necessarily, but I am shit at letting go. Matter and metaphorical. I believe that our material world is a physical manifestation of our subconscious selves. I am not implying that a tidy house is a clean psyche, sometimes quite the opposite; I had a good friend in high school who lived in a house where everything had it’s place, but it was always so cold and unwelcoming. It seemed dark even when the sun shone through the windows. He and his parents rarely spoke, when his father did talk to him it was usually a criticism. I was never actually there when his parents were around, and even though I have never been super perceptive to energies, I could still feel the disassociation and stunted emotion in that home.

My own home, however, is inviting and comfortable, or so I have been told. As I have gotten older I have learned to keep the common areas as tidy as can be expected of someone as domestically disabled as myself and there is no denying the creativity and love in this house. We can get messy, but rarely are we dirty. My kitchen is always in varying degrees of entropy, but I find time a few days a week to turn on some loud music and clean the bejeezus out of it. I actually like to clean. It is meditative for me, once I have gotten over the starting part. Motivation to start anything is not a strength I possess just yet. I am, however, an expert lounger and am absolutely in love with leisure. I would do it for a living if I could, and be very good at it. My living room reflects this. Big comfy couch and chairs, throw pillows, throw blankets, anything throwable really, rugs, parties, a biscuit if you are so inclined… There are tons of books and movies, art supplies and stereo equipment. Really anything you might want to waste some time on, I got. Except video games, I hate a challenge.

Then there is my room. The room that I also share with my daughter, though she really only goes in there to sleep. It has no windows and an unusually slender door. It is at the back of the apartment, hidden and ignored. The fire exit is an oddly placed white door that looks like a front door of a house, heavy and metal with a dead bolt. It leads to my building manager’s storage space and eventually outside. This is a mirror for the farthest reaches of my psyche. In other words, it is a dark forgotten pit of bedlam and neglect. I wake up confused and sick, and I go to bed over stimulated and restless. The in between part varies greatly, such is the life of a manic depressive, but the wake/sleep transitions seem to be non-negotiable and have always been my deepest bane.

There is hope. I am abandoning my fabulous metropolitan apartment with the giant yellow kitchen and deep pink tub that is just a block from anything I could possibly want in my hip expensive neighborhood in my hip expensive city by the water. I am packing up only that which I have decided I need, putting it all into storage and the kiddo and I are moving to the woods for the summer to live in a bright red double-decker school bus. I am so friggin’ excited. It is a journey that I have put off for entirely too long. It all begins with letting go. Letting go of all of this useless bullshit that bogs down my mind and soul. Getting rid of the forgotten toys, too small clothes, broken jewelery, mementos of a time in which we no longer exist, distractions, delusions unrealistic expectations and all of the lies I have told myself when I’m sad.

One of the goals of this adventure isĀ  to learn how to apply my myriad of daily epiphanies to reality. In this world of instant gratification, I have gone soft. In more than just my waistline. I have never learned self discipline or control. When you suffer from delusions, you learn to second guess yourself, to find the truth. The problem with that is that, well, you are always second guessing yourself and your confidence suffers and wanes. I want to learn to find that voice. The one that speaks my truths through love and compassion and teach it how to be louder than the rest of them, ultimately silencing them once and for all. There is not room in this head of mine for all of them. Especially the deceivers. You know the ones, we all have them. These little monsters of guilt and resentment. Of jealousy and despair. I came across a list I had made once when I was dealing with some stuff. It was instructions on how to pull myself out of a depressive episode. One of the steps really stuck with me and still helps to this day. Give your monsters really un-monstery names, like Kennith or Cleetus. It is impossible to be frightened or intimidated by something named Meriwether Snodgrass.

I will return to the city in the fall, find a new, quieter neighborhood and and apartment with sunlight. I will have less material crap than I do now (think minimalism, think White Room), so that will hopefully aid and abet any organizational prowess I intend to develop in the near future.

I really just long to feel like a grown up.

Till next time lovies,


Post Script, darlings: I am just barely learning HTML, clearly I still only really know how to make big bold font and back again. A point in the direction of tutorials would be most appreciated. Thanks!!