The mess I live in.

To the people that know me it will come as no suprise that not only am I messy but that I live with quite a lot of stuff lying around. A flat often untouched by a hoover a cleaning cloth detergent or any such thing. Clothes unwashed kitchen not clean. In my darkest hours, ( not for at least 3 years) I would write about the pain of living in what can only be described as squalor and why I lived in it. The mess was a badge not of honour but of proof, if proof like that was ever needed that I was really unwell and needed help. I hoped, even though back then no one from mental health servives knew about me I wished that by some miracle someone any one would turn up and see the mess and know that help was needed. Even with time under the CMHT (community mental health team) in the theraputic community with a great therapist. It was hard to let go of the mess around me, my then therapist pointed out that no proof was needed. I could live clean and she promised it was still obvious that I was unwell. Well three years on the flat is still a mess, certainly not squalid any more but certainly needing a clean. I still hold onto my mess, I often wonder why. Most of the people I know with mental health issues live messy. Why is it so difficult to clean or stay tidy and why is it easier to step over the mess than pick it up. I have often said that living messy is an excuse to keep people out, out of my pain I guess. But I wonder know if some of this is just about old habits dying hard. Well as much as I know I am going to hate talking about it, I am going to take my mess through therapy and maybe finally I can get my life cleaned up. Its going to be painfull.