I can’t stand a lot of different kinds of dirty, and a dirty bathroom is the worst. A filthy house gives me a sense of physical desperation akin to claustrophobia. It feels as if chaos is raining down on me. Like I’m drowning under piles of trash. As if the earth itself has vomited all over me.
I know it’s crazy and that it’s the OCD talking. No. I am not drowning in trash. Garbage gets taken out every day. Yes. There is dog fur. I have 2 dogs so there is not a day where there’s no fur somewhere. There’s a layer of dust on the baseboard heater. I noticed it at 3:30am when I was cleaning up from yet another late night binge and purge session, which has been a regular occurrence this week.
I am so tired. Exhausted really. If I slow down or sit for a bit, I find myself nodding off within minutes. But let me lie down and get comfy so I can have a decent rest, and immediately I’m back on high alert.
Thoughts screaming around in my head, shouting demands at me to dust the heater. Or wipe the puppy nose prints off the window, so they can smear it all up again.
There’s no end. I hurt. Physically. I feel everything I do is done in vain because I have to keep doing it over and over. I want a clean house. And I want to curl up with Netflix and watch all day long without having to lift a finger to clean anything. A day for me.
I feel so awful for even saying that. Its selfish to want it all about me.
God, I am such a loser.