It’s a thing of twenty years ago, when I started my war against anxiety. I have suffered a lot from such type of unclear signs. These blur signs expresses that why it was too much serious thing to make it hides from other people to spend life with ease. The interesting thing about the invisible symptom I’m going to talk about here is that it’s also a visible symptom that simply goes unnoticed or is written off as “lazy.” I cannot sleep well for three years. Whenever I go to tours, only at that time I become able to sleep soundly, but otherwise I cannot sleep well.
I am a like that person to whom you can think a messy one. For deciding a single dress for one day , I create a lot of mess. My all suits clutter on my bed and room floor. I usually throw my bottles all around my room and in room. My empty tea cups resides for weeks on my side table near my bed. Clothes in my laundry are too much huge that it nearly covers the whole place. In fact, I’ve barely done any laundry in the last three years. Sometimes I just buy new socks or underwear instead of digging through the war zone that becomes my bedroom. I leave the windows open and never dust when the windowsill inevitably gets covered in dust, dirt and dead bugs. There are probably dozens of other messy habits I have that I could write about.
But in reality, I am not a person like that. I hate mess. Wherever I cook a dish or bake something, I always clean the whole place as much as I can clean it. I organize my books daily because I don’t like clutters. Even my mobile phone applications are also in very organized and managed way. I like to organize each and every thing as much as I can.
But the trouble I face in this regard is that my sadness make me unable to think of these things. Before three years ago, I cleaned my room with full of motivation and inspiration. I must do some donations of my extra clothes and money. I almost wash my clothes on daily basis to eliminate burden of it. Before sleep, I clean each and every mess which I throw away here and there in my room or floor. It always happened. You can ask it from my mother.
I’m not as messy of a person as most people who know me think I am. One of the biggest clues that I’m slipping into a depressive episode is when I can’t be bothered to move the clothing pile on my bed after a week and I end up sleeping in it. Or when the soda bottles start accumulating all over my desk. The easiest way to think about it is when I’m slipping into a bad depression again, the areas around me start to look like what my brain feels like. Cluttered. Disorganized. Dark. Grimy. Dusty.
The state of my room has always been a point of contention between my mom and I. It’s even been used in arguments between friends and ex-boyfriends who use it as some kind of negative trait they can hurt me with. And it does. It does hurt.
Most people see my mess, my clutter, and assume they know why it’s the way it is. But in reality, I think my mess has always been a scream for help that nobody ever noticed.VIA adda