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When Depression Makes You Look Like an Inherently Messy Person
AKA living in mental squalor.
There’s a joke among my friends, boyfriend, and I that my bedroom in my apartment is called a “depression pit”. And it’s exactly what it sounds like.
My mattress and boxspring are on the floor, I never got around to getting money for a bed frame. My desk is covered in papers, empty Dunkin Donuts cups, and an ashtray with about a month’s worth of weed resin dumped into it. The floor is hidden by an ocean of clothes, with some piles them going up to my knees. The blinds haven’t been opened for weeks and will coat my whole room in dust if I attempt to.
It’s distressing and honestly gross, but it doesn’t end at my bedroom and trickles into my car. Drive-thru receipts and straw wrappers are thrown on the floor and the backseat is cluttered with extra jackets, bags, and other junk.
From looking at everything from my car to the inside of my purse, you would assume I’m a messy person. But truly, it’s not the case.
I still wash my dishes and put them in the dishwasher.
I take out the garbage and recycling.
I still organize the pantry and sweep the cat fur off the floors.
