There has always been a direct connection between how clean my house is, and my mental state. Normally I try pretty hard to keep the house at least at a state that if someone stopped by I wouldn't be mortified to open the door. I think there's a difference between "close friends clean" and "company clean," and we've been close friends clean for most of the year. It's been fairly self sustaining, and I have to admit it's made life easier to just have to pick up a few things when my parents surprise us, or when we're frantically trying to pack and leaving the house in the hands of our petsitter.
But lately, that's been harder to sustain. I feel like my energy level is winding down, and it's getting hard to care about the cat hair on the floor or putting laundry away. Since this is one of the most obvious and tangible signs of me dipping into depression, I know I need to do something about it. It's just a struggle, bouncing back from a stressful conference, Matt's hospital adventure, and looking at another business trip in the future. I feel like the lack of control has almost turned into a physical presence, lurking, and when it gets to that point, it's easier to slouch on the couch, to wallow, to nap the chaos away.
Regardless of how "company clean" I've managed to keep the house (or not, presently), there are parts of it that remain absolute chaos. And I'm going to draw a direct and cheesy analogy. My closets, and my brain, are both hidden messes, messes that are easy to keep private. I don't think people who see me on a casual, everyday basis, can see how I'm struggling. I keep a smile on my face at work, and everyone thinks all is well in my world. But you can't judge a book by it's cover, a librarian by her smile, or a clean room for the mess hidden behind closed doors.
The photo I've included (now with bonus nebby cat!) shows the wardrobe where I keep my pants and skirts. And it's a fiasco. There are four stacks on the top shelf, three huge piles on top of the shoes, all of the hanging clothes, and a few things that I've crammed on top of the hang bar out of frustration. The first part of this problem is that the clothes in there span six clothing sizes. From my biggest point (the holidays 2011) to my lowest point (summer 2003) in recent years, I've got skirts, I've got pants, I've got jeans, I've got capris, I've got sweats. And to be honest, I hate 90% of those clothes. That harkens back to me buying clothes to hide in, not clothes that I look good in.
So my goal for this weekend, is to clean out this closet. I've hit near the bottom range of the sizes again, so plan on donating all of the clothes that are too big to the VA. Then I'm going to go through what fits, and what I hope to fit into again, and make decisions on if they're flattering or if it fits in with who I'm hoping to become, externally. And to be accountable, I'll post pictures when I'm done.
I'm hoping that if I start to address the hidden issues, both emotionally and in my home, I'll start to fight my way out of this bout of depression. To get up off of the couch and the internet. I'm really hoping to have a handle on things, to be headed back towards a better place once August hits. I've been struggling in my head, too hard on myself, my own worst critic, disappointing myself, from Memorial Day to now, and it's time to just stop.