In September of 2018, my mom suddenly died. At first, I still kept up with my housework.
Then several people magnified my grief with the hurtful ways they treated me. Some criticized me for, in their opinion, not doing a good enough job handling the logistics of her death. Some kept pushing me to go faster, even though I was already drained from my mental illness and various other traumas that had happened before, and her sudden death happened when I had barely had a chance to start recovering from that other stuff.
Others steamrolled my boundaries. Also, I was more prone than usual to making mistakes for a while after her death, such as forgetting an important item at home, and at times, people were ruthless about it.
The added layers to my grief and trauma ruined me. The feelings that ruined me, in turn, ruined my home. I was so out of my mind after these additional awful events that I stopped cleaning my apartment or even throwing anything away properly.
Now, I’m surrounded by garbage in my apartment. Even being in bed is uncomfortable, because there’s garbage there, too. I’ve had so much to handle and so little support that I’d just weakly open my palm when I held a piece of garbage and let it drop to the floor, barely registering it. Other times, I’d set down garbage, nasty dishes, etc. on whatever furniture was close by. My apartment is infested with bugs.
I have to act…if my landlord finds out that my apartment has gotten this bad, she’d have to evict me. I’ve already dealt with homelessness before, both as a child and as an adult. I fear what it would do to me if I had to endure it yet again. Not again. Not again! I need to save myself.
I hope to later have an update, readers, with a picture of a clean, organized apartment, a picture that I won’t be ashamed to share.