Cleaning up the last 9 years

 Depression and mental health will cause one to do things that are not typical of who you were before they became part of your life. I look back over the years and see where things have changed, and the slight gradual build up to where I am at this very moment.

Over the last few days, I with the help of some good friends, have begun excavating the layers of pain, hurt, and mental illness. Each ticking second of the living room clock, ticks the next layer to be thrown into the overflowing trashcan. The music blaring in the background hits my ear but doesn't fully register the rhythm and lyrical stylings. 

My body is present, and automatically going through the motions. Randomly throwing things into the 55-gallon bag, while some small part keeps tally of all the money, all of the emotion, and all of the false need that each item holds. Each moment finds me swimming through floods of images, emotions, and money spent collecting each item. Things crammed into every nook and cranny like some dragon hoard, with nearly enough space for the air in the room to slip through. Looking at towering piles of forgotten items, wondering if I should even begin disturbing its resting place, in the futile attempts to regain some semblance of the home I once had, before the intrusive thoughts of a mentally ill mind moved in.

A filing cabinet with boxes stacked to the ceiling, with layers of who knows what cascading below it. A filing cabinet that has not been opened in probably 9 years or more. The arcane documents therein, more than likely no longer relevant after such a long period of time. My body screaming for the comforting embrace of my bed, like a vampire fleeing from the burning rays of the morning sun, so to does my want and desire to lay in bed call to me. My body longing for the caress of the comforter, and the softness of the pillows, and the cool breeze from the fans positioned throughout the room. A room in need of cleaning like most the other parts of the house. But in its disastrous state, a peace and a comfort that would make others uncomfortable.

A momentary reprieve in writing this just to take a few moments to rest before returning to the task at hand. Always propelling my tired and broken spirit and body towards an unforeseeable conclusion. A conclusion with no clear time or date of completion, just the daunting mechanisms of pseudo mechanical marching with slow forward progression.