One of the cool things about getting my mood balanced again is that I’m interested in my surroundings. Specifically, my home. I spent Memorial Day weekend working on some cleaning and organizing projects on the first level of my house. In the last year or so the only things I felt about my house were “can I dump it and start over?” It’s too far from the urban core. It’s too much of a family area. The commute is grating.
Gradually, it just started to become an overwhelming place where I noticed all of the chaos and clutter. “Hmm, has that stuff always been there?” or “Hey, maybe it’s kind of weird that there are random receipts and coupons on the floor.” Depressed me sort of blocked it all out. Depressed me cared about the following things: my couch hidey-hole, was the internet working so I could use my Roku, did I have sufficient body covering blankets on the couch, did my bed exist, did my plumbing work, was the refrigerator working? That’s it. Survival and hiding.
Coming out of the blind survival and waking into awareness of my envirmonent was really uncomfortable. I suddenly knew there were things I felt I should be doing, but I didn’t yet have the energy or the desire. I was flooded with anxiety.
Anxiety is sort of this two-headed alien with tentacles that infests your body. It plops its first head inside your brain, squashing the cells that manage rational thoughts. It waggles its butt into a comfortable position, puts on its glasses and then realizes it left something out of arms reach so it has to get back up again. Repeat waggling.
Head two, or what I think of as the “hairy head,” hangs out in the core of your body and entwines it’s lustrous hair around your organs. The hair sort of tangles around your organs while it tries to flow around like a shampoo commercial — only, there’s stuff like your stomach, intestines and bladder in the way.
Tentacles are attached to a stalk that affixes to your spine. The stalk connects the two heads. Tentacles specialize in cheesey pick-up lines and their prime targets are your muscles. They just find the muscles in your neck, shoulders, and back to be so sexy. Only, the muscles are revolted by the advances of the tentacles so they try to get as far away as possible — which isn’t far — so everything is very tense.
The anxiety alien also doesn’t need much sleep. It’s really itching to rave on and orders glow sticks in bulk. Only, the longer it goes without sleep, the more active it can become.
Now that you understand the beast, you can understand why it would be a challenge to give a damn about pieces of paper on the floor when you are playing host to all night alien trance dancing. Taming anxiety and getting it to take an extended nap immensely improves your ablity to rationalize thought and regulate your own rest and recovery.
For me, that manifests as DIY projects and once again thinking about things like painting the trim in my house, painting my kitchen cabinets, putting up a divider curtain between my kitchen and living room, organizing my second bedroom, and well, you get the point. The next part is taking action. I started last weekend. I plan to work on another space this weekend, and research options for painting.
These more frequent periods of peace are refreshing. It’s hard to have energy for anything else when you are constantly cleaning up after a massive alien kegger in your body.