Ever wonder why you react a certain way or have so much god damn anxiety about particular things, but actual "normal" people don't and then you continue to have anxiety about your anxiety and what the heck is actually wrong with you? Yep. Kinda had a *ding ding ding* moment today after being able to actually take a breather, get some stuff done that I wanted to, and have a clear head. Just about 60% of all my anxiety about certain things all still stems down to my mother. I mean, I knew that, but I didn't know that. Does that even make sense? Am I even making sense right now? Probably not. But anywho, I basically reminded myself today, "Hey, now that you have a set schedule for work, maybe you can look into actually finding a decent therapist that actually listens and go back to therapy. And you know, actually address the real reasons why you have all this anxiety in the first place and not have the therapist have to actually play 20 questions to figure it out."
I've noticed the more I see and talk to my mother, the worse my anxiety is. This week between PMS, just having a very full plate to deal with, and then talking to my mother and having her help me with things honestly sent me into such a psychotic freaking tailspin. I like that she helps, but help never comes from just helping with her. I hate admitting that but it's true. It's always an IOU with her. It's always a "I'll do this thing for you but I'm going to do it my way and make passive comments the whole time too."
One of the things I get *extremely* anxious about -- and makes me wonder if I now am borderline OCD -- is the state of my house. How it looks, how it feels, how it smells, how clean it is. I didn't grow up in a clean house. I grew up in a run down clutterfest of a house. Both of my parents are hoarders. No where near as bad as from that TV show Hoarders, but it's still worse than average. Even though I would have friends over as a kid, as I got older I started feeling embarrassed how my parents kept things and quit inviting people over. Piles upon piles of books and papers stacked from the floor and in bins and on tables. Storage boxes full of old stuff thrown upstairs in rooms you couldn't even access because there was so much. Random stuff placed in random places. Dust coating the surfaces of things and no one doing a thing about it. Having to help clean wasn't just a chore, it was literal torture. It was getting yelled at for not doing enough, it was getting judged over how I did things, it was cleaning something only to have it messed up the very next day therefore no point in actually doing the work. When things broke, they never got fixed. They stayed broken, and to this day there are still things in their house that have been broken since I was a kid.
Nowadays, I absolutely hate clutter in my house. I spring clean 2 - 3 times a year. I'm always getting rid of stuff, and I don't usually replace it either. I can't stand looking at mismatching colors or random stuff in a room, things need to complement each other. I cannot stand things out of place or tilted. Broken things I usually want fixed ASAP, otherwise it drives me nuts because I keep looking at it whenever I walk into that room. This also explains why I get so god damn anxious if I'm home too much as well. I love my home, but by god does it need a whole cosmetic makeover. It's a wonderful blank slate that's itching to be worked with, but things just haven't gotten done due to other stuff in life happening. I still have white walls, I still have wood floors that need to be repaired, I have a bathroom that's currently falling apart that desperately needs a whole makeover. But the whole point of this long enough post is, I'm always obsessing over these things and I don't want to obsess over it so much anymore. My house isn't my parents house. My house is still far better than the crapshoot I grew up in. But I feel like my brain doesn't recognize that, or is afraid that my house is going to turn into my parents house. And I really don't know how to change the way my brain sees these things.