Never has a word fitted me more than the word, messy.
Messy is my head. Messy is my bed. Messy is my life.
Nothing ever seems to be in any order. And usually when I try to organise ‘things’ into some kind of order, I make things worse. Now, I know, that people say that things tend to get worse before they get better. But that doesn’t really help. Not when I find myself struggling to function without changing things. It’s almost like those old cartoons where a leak comes in, and by trying to stop it, another starts, and then another. It doesn’t take much for things to fall apart. After all, one person can only do so much.
I have too many things jammed in my closet. But to clear out the closet, every item, every bad decision, every failure has to come to the fore. Every thing begs for attention, and when you have been papering over the cracks, those things can make those cracks start to crumble away. Within an instant, it can feel like those battles you have been fighting, for most of your life, are lost all at once. It is insanely difficult to recover from that.