Dirty Rooms, Dirty Mind?

My room is a mess. I know it is, but I have nothing in me to care enough to clean it. Honestly, the mess isn’t even that bad. Just a pile of clothes on my bed that needed to be put away a week ago, and dirty carpet that is covered in cat fuzz.

If I am honest though, I have been avoiding cleaning my clothes (which all smell bad because my sister threw them in my room while they were damp) because I like the weight of them at night when sleeping.

I really wish I could follow that confession with “not in a weird way or anything” but that would be a fallacy.

Willingly sleeping by a pile of dirty clothes is weird. Granted, I don’t really notice mess a lot of time because I am just sort of rolling between sleep and work, but last night I did.

But it felt like there was another person, like I wasn’t alone. Like I had someone sleeping next to me, someone who I could share that kind of intimacy and trust with.

Instead of thinking about how lonely I feel in a crowd.

Milk and two Sugars, 100mg Sertaline.

There is this invisible weight, sitting upon my chest – it sinks into my skin, stretching the small space for what feels miles.

My arms feel like air, and I feel like I am floating leagues underwater. I am not drowning, but I am not treading. Every thing feels so false, like I am in a delusion not of my own making.

I find myself waking up, staring at the roof for the ticking seconds of hours gone past.

This is an average day; its only late morning so I go make some tea. While the kettle boils I lose autonomy to baser instinct; my hand drowns in its angry steam. It burns, but the pain doesn’t register.

I make my tea – tea bag, water, sitting, milk, 2 sugars and stir.

Then its that time of day again; that daily ritual that seems so fruitless but is so utterly necessary; time for my medication.

Sometimes, I just stare at the little white pill in my hand. Its so small, but this white pill is what balances me out.

It doesn’t always work perfectly; some days, I am trapped in the terrifying and all-encompassing nothingness of old days.

Other days, a true rarity, I wake up and there is no weight on my chest; everything is brighter and colours more rich. The air tastes sweet, and not like led.

Its an odyssey; at night, I am never really sure how the coming days will be.

Exhaustion is a common theme; sometimes I can sleep for days on end. Other times, sleep doesn’t come despite extreme exhaustion.