3 1/2 Months of Freaking Out
Updated: May 7, 2019
I am flinging myself into my house. Not around the house. INTO the house. I am decluttering with an energy that is focused and frantic at the same time.
Emotional turmoil has done me in. I did not have my defenses up. These last two years have taken their toll and I know I’m not the only one that feels this way.
I am weary.
I hate everyone.
Even the people I love and respect out there.
I am cranky.
I load up stuff for the thrift store, filling my car, over and over.
I drop off my mom’s unused hearing aids to a volunteer with the Lion’s Club. I stop home, pick up three mens’ suits and take them to Men’s WearHouse where they will donate them to people who need a suits.
I stop at Half Price Books and receive $37 for the items my son said I could throw out.
This is what occupies me.
Projects. I have projects. I make lists of how many outlet covers I need for my basement. I count the light switches. I write everything down.
I send email inquiries about selling some items we own. I want to clear all clutter.
I use KonMari strategies and decide if things bring me joy, or are useful. But I also add something else. Does it make me feel heavy?
Does it make my spirit feel heavy?
I long for space around me, space where I will not feel assaulted by life.
I long to lighten my part of the world.
I also want someone to fight bad guys for me.
I watch movies--I want to see Liam Neeson beat the shit out of bad guys. I want to see Jason Statham take on the giant shark. Good vs evil. Good always wins. I need that.
But it's not enough. I let too much in these last few weeks, these last months, these last two years.
I am raw.
I think about the fact that right now, I am living the experiences that I want to help people get through. I run to the computer to document all of this. This may help in the new self care book I am writing. Hopefully I have some wisdom to share when I come out of this.
If I come out of this.
I continue to donate and don’t have any problem letting go of what I would have formerly thought about in a more sentimental fashion. I critically assess all books in the house, of which there are many. Do they bring me joy? Will I read/reread them? I give away any that don't serve me in some fashion.
I give away a huge bookcase. I happily fill garbage bags and go through shelves and drawers I haven’t looked at for years.
As the clutter clears, I see more of what I DON’T want. I start to envision how I want an unused bedroom to look. It will become a room for reading, meditation, yoga and resting.
In one day I paint the ceiling and paint two coats on the walls. I can’t wait for a painter.I do not enjoy painting but I need it done now. I need to have some control over my environment.
I rearrange furniture in the house. I give away artwork and huge rugs. Someone else can enjoy them.
A lighter look. A lighter feel.
And it’s working. When I began, I felt so weighed down by everything.
My spirit and environment seemed like too much, and it was.
I am creating more room to breathe as I let go of objects that have been just sitting there, adding nothing, but somehow blocking more air.
There will be people who will be delighted to own what I have given away and I hope the objects or clothing or whatever, help to make their days nicer in some way.
I secretly think though, that the benefits are all mine.
I selfishly embrace what I have given myself.
I feel the loveliness of room to breathe, space for my spirit to breathe.
Freshness and calm are replacing frenzied and sad.
I am still not finished. I will continue until what remains is the essence of those who live here.
I am offered the opportunity to spend a week in the desert, and I look forward to the heat and barrenness to reclaim some of my soul.
A week for getting rid of the clutter inside of my head. It helps to be in my favorite part of the country, but I still feel vulnerable.
I return from my trip and it's time for the Bill Cosby sentencing. I can’t bear the possibility of him NOT getting a prison sentence. I anxiously await the final words from the judge. With the relief that comes with him being sent to prison, comes the memory of how many women he hurt. I cry for all those women, all those victims.
Then, Dr. Ford speaks, and in her words, I hear all of us. All women who have been assaulted and raped, and degraded. She is everyone.
I am crushed and I can’t listen to any men speak. Even the ones I love. The male energy hurts me.
I did not realize that going to Michigan to help my sister move into her new home would be so healing. I carry and move things and we go for massages. I clean and break up boxes and we move furniture. We go for pedicures. I soak in the feminine energy from the women in the salons and my best friend. I sleep, eat too much and laugh.
I check Twitter infrequently and pay no attention to news. I know how they will vote. I have been in the world a long time.
Later, when I arrive home, I see that I have created a place of healing. My own fortress of good energy and love. I have cleared the clutter, and cleared my thoughts.
I can rest here.
Here I will recover, heal, think and plan. The fight is far from over. There is work to do.
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