it's too loud.

September first, 2023.

It's getting bad again. Without fail, it gets worse and worse until I spiral so far it becomes unbearable. Only then do I seem to be able to fix it. But am I really fixing it? I hide things in bags shoved into lockers and under the bed, until it threatens to spill out. It's like the whole place is holding its breath. Each time I clean all the evidence of my own failure to stay afloat away, and I swear to myself that no one must ever know that I let myself live in such conditions. And for a week or two, I keep it pristine, and I tell myself that I will never let myself sink so low again.

But it always happens again. The minute I release the chokehold I have on myself, my control slips away like sand as I desperately try and grasp it again.

I can no longer do the dishes. They pile up in the sink, and thenm on the counter, and then my trash can is full again and trash starts creeping up on every available table or counter. But I can't bring myself to bring the trash outside. It should be such a simple task, like doing the dishes, or the laundry, when it, too, no longer fits in its allotted hamper and spreads until it's laying all around the apartment.

And then I'm stuck in a limbo. I can't do the laundry, because where would I put it when it's clean? My closet is already full of clothing, trash and trinkets in bags that I haphazardly put away. I keep pushing more things in there, because the only way i can tidy is to do it in a rush, with the looming threat of someone finding out how I really live. And how could I possibly clear out all the closets and all the bureaus and every little corner I could hidde things in, when I can't even bring myself to take the trash out?

I never know where to start. I can't clear the tables because I don't have anywhere to put the trash. I can't bring the dishes to the kitchen when it's already filled it the brim. I can only get myself to clean when I begin to panic.