The Mess Of Me And My Room

My dog and I played musical chairs with our sleeping arrangements last night. Or rather, I wandered all around the house every now and then in search of somewhere I may be able to sleep, followed by a sleepy, confused (but unquestioning) and very protective chocolate labrador.

I ended up in the kitchen because it was far too hot upstairs. Went back to bed after drinking quite possibly my own bodyweight in water. At some point I discovered the music of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and significantly approved, so spent a long time listening to that. After attempting to sleep and failing again, I grabbed my book and went downstairs to the living room (where I hugged the dog and watched Family Guy), only to be driven out by the knowledge that if either of my parents found me asleep there in the morning my parents would be fairly annoyed, and make it known. Also, there was a GIANT midge that kept trying to land on me and feast on my blood. Excuse me but no.

Eventually I fell asleep in front of the TV and grabbed about half an hour. So I went back to bed, figuring that my body was ready to sleep, because I was too tired to function and finally not wide awake at the same time. I couldn’t fit in my bed, and so I couldn’t get comfy. Then there was a mosquito, which I did not approve of. This led to me wandering aimlessly around the upstairs of our house wrapped in the quilt cover I have been sleeping under in place of a blanket of quilt. I eventually ended up at the top of the stairs staring at the bathroom door, completely lost and confused and too tired to function and desperate for sleep. My dog just looked at me. I went back to bed. He followed. My train to the land of dreams was the little engine that couldn’t!

At 6am I gave up and just got up. I couldn’t stay in my room because here’s the thing:

My room reflects the state of my mind. When I am just about dealing with life and possess even a shred of motivation, I feed my obsessive need to have everything neat and in a specific place. When I’m totally not dealing, my room slips long before I do. I start to leave stuff about, I don’t have the motivation to tidy or straighten the stuff on my desk or pick up stuff that falls on the floor. The floor eventually becomes completely covered with rubbish (clean empty wrappers and packets and papers, no food) and finally the situation ends up with there being no room for me on my bed except other than to try and fit all of me onto my pillow, because I put stuff on my bed to try and force/motivate myself to deal with it and it doesn’t work. As someone who CANNOT STAND DISARRAY, this stresses me out beyond belief, which makes my mind, and therefore my room, even more of a mess. It takes pretty big stuff for me to get to the stage where my bed is unusable.

I repeat – I can no longer sleep in my bed.

I removed myself from the junkyard of my own creation that was making me feel like a piece of junk, and walked away. 

This will eventually pass, and I will blitz the mess and the disorder and my room will become ridiculously near as I become determined to try and save the sinking ship of myself in a “it’s going under but if I get to land maybe nobody has to go down with this ships and no lives will be lost” sort of attitude.

But I don’t have that right now. I’m not going to lie – the hospital appointments of the coming week are stressing me out, to the point that if I think of them, I rapidly fill my current emotional void with a heavy dread and fear, and this crushing, crippling sense of impending disaster. In response to knowing that these appointments are coming up, I’ve had a lot more nightmares, every single one of them about hospital experiences from when I was younger and even the faces of the people I will be meeting. I tried to process everything at 6am and had a very vivid flashback that took me by surprise in the middle of what was already a near meltdown.

There’s other stuff on my mind. Big stuff. Stuff I bury and pretend isn’t there. This doesn’t stop it eating me alive. It just means I have no idea why on earth I can’t think (the delightfully unhelpful migraines I’ve experienced since I was a child but suddenly seem to be getting every few days, and my not uncommon brain fog also don’t help this but hey) and then I reuse that it’s the things I push aside and leave to die that thrive instead of dying and entangle me and grow deep roots and… Tear me apart.

Still, no way but through. Could be worse, I could be stuck in that 12 hour traffic jam on the motorway leading to Dover. Every cloud…


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