My apartment looks like it houses a person with mental illness. A hoarder, or something. There are piles of clothes everywhere. 

I came back from Central America feeling like I have to get rid of all of this STUFF. I have so much stuff. I have so many clothes, and nowhere to put them. I have so many dishes, and nowhere to put them. Couches, tables, a giant pink victoria’s secret shoe (which I NEED)–I have all this STUFF and nowhere to put it. And every time I go home, my mom sends me with a box of something from my childhood, which just adds up to more stuff. It’s overwhelming; I have to get rid of all of this STUFF, but how? I am not strong enough to get this furniture OUT of my place. And even the thought of putting all of these clothes into trashbags to give to Goodwill is overwhelming because first of all it’s mainly just like T-shirts and clothes with tiny holes in them–who would even want that? And then, what store would I go to? And do I even own enough trashbags?


And that’s when I start to question why these fairly regular tasks are so insurmountable to me. Why is it so hard for me to do regular, functional things like keep a house I wouldn’t be ashamed to invite folks to?


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