Working On Myself

I had gotten sick of looking at all the junk we had collected over the years.  I was tired of cleaning, sorting, taking photos and pricing it all to be listed on eBay.  I decided I was not going to do it for a while.  Let the piles sit there for a bit, and I would work on myself.  I would spend my alone afternoon time, the time between getting off work and the time Shawn arrives from his job, and just focus selfishly on myself.  I decided I would take up a hobby, read, exercise, research anti-depressants and healthy foods that would make me feel better.

And then I just never did it.

The problem is that it's overwhelming.  It's like looking into a hoarder's house.  I've read about people who were crushed to death by stacks of newspapers because they refused to throw anything into the garbage.  That sounds like a personal nightmare to someone who has a compulsive need to organize the entire planet.  I've seen these people's homes on television.  It reminds me of my head.

In my head there are stacks of newspapers to the ceiling, things I don't want, things I don't need, things that have collected and were never dealt with.  When I see those homes on TV, I think to myself, Where would you begin?  It seems it would be easier to just move to a new house.  It's easier to just not deal with it because I am so overwhelmed by the stacks in my mind.  Where to start?  I dunno.  I'm frustrated, so I give up.

There's a reason I don't have any friends.  I'm a little nuts.  I'm abrasive and manic-depressive.  Yeah, I do have times of mania.  I don't think highly of myself, but these bits of mania make me focus on everything negative about a person or several people.  And by placing those people so low on the totem pole, I go through a bit of mania as though they are doing nothing and I am doing everything.  It's ludicrous!  I don't want to put these people down; I feel like I cannot help it. It very rarely comes out of my mouth but that's not the point of it.

There's a lot of fear there.  We go to Roller Derby bouts and I yes, I'd so LOVE to go to try outs.  But I've never played on a team before.  I never played sports in school.  It's very difficult for me to speak to new people.  I'm worried what's gonna fly out of my mouth.  Something stupid comes out of my mouth and I dwell on it for days.  You think the other person dwells on it as much as I do?  I go in expecting to not be liked, to not be accepted.  What if I'm not any good?  What if everyone hates me, as they eventually will?  What if I do like someone on the team, but they turn out to cut me to pieces behind my back, making a fool of me? 

The equipment is probably too expensive anyway.  We don't have extra money to spend on frivolous things.  Shawn would need the car on Monday's which is a practice day.  I haven't skated since I was a small child, and that was on skates from the seventies.  I wouldn't be able to satisfy my nicotine carving with a mouth guard in place.  I am hard to get along with, they probably wouldn't want me anyway. 

So I make excuses.

So it's just easier to not deal with it.  I go to the bouts.  I root for the home team.  Every single time, Shawn says I should try out.  Of course this mean to me that it'll give him an excuse to peer at the short shorts and cleavage spilling out only more often.  Another made-up excuse.

No one can fix all of this but me.  I can't wait for someone to come along and fix me; that's just not going to happen.  I have to do it myself.  I open the door, which cannot even be opened but a few inches for all the junk.  God, where do I even begin?

If I don't clean it out, I am yes, quite aware that eventually the junk will spill over on top of me and kill me.  Maybe not literally, but at least in a sense.