I woke up this morning feeling like crap. The house seemed to crowd around me. I had melted into oblivion. The disorder was all that existed. There were no sounds, no fiance, no thoughts of love or happiness. Just a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and the vulgarity of the laundry basket and the clothes spilling out of it; the unutterable chaos that was my night stand.
It suddenly began to torment me that I’ve been living in the same mess for over a year. The fiance’s a slob, and has turned me into one. I didn’t know what was more horrifying to me, the fact that our home is basically a dump or that I have learned to live with it. And then the devil struck. It was as though I woke up on a different planet, and I could see only the laundry basket and the side stand. I lost all control. I had to clean. Right away.
I spent two hours cleaning the house today, muttering mean things to the fiance under my breath, treating him like an incompetent employee I couldn’t fire. He was trying to help, but is so awful at helping we ended up breaking a whole set of wine glasses. Yes, the same ones that have been sitting on the dining table for a week now. At least I don’t have to bother putting them back on the shelf anymore!
After we were done, I was still in a sulky mood, so he made me tea and sat me down. It was working great, until he said: Hey, I get that you like to live in a clean house and I’m no help at all, but that’s not reason enough for you to get depressed. I don’t know how to deal with this, you know, when life’s a breeze for months on end, and then suddenly wake up and start doing this. You’re freaking me out!
I was livid. I wanted to say: Not reason enough? Really? Do you know what goes on in my mind in those peaceful months? What do you know of obsessions anyway? There’s never a moment when I’m not thinking about cleaning. Some days I feel so low I almost feel paralyzed. I don’t want to even wake up because I’m afraid of what I’ll get to see. Part of me wants to set the house on fire so I know that I can start setting it up from scratch. But sorry for the inconvenience dude. I know you’re late for work today because of me.
Then I remembered that he does know how it feels to be depressed. He is clinically depressed. He is battling two dissociative disorders.
I’m sorry. I don’t want to freak you out baby. I just feel so paralyzed some days.
I know sweetheart. You know what, we’re going to spend this entire weekend cleaning.
I think I may be more obsessed with him than with cleaning, after all.