Living in a house filled beyond its capacity with useless crap isn't just difficult for someone that's dealt with OCD for the majority of their life. To put it lightly, it's traumatic. There are triggers everywhere and no 'safe' place to go to, which means I tend to deal with the issue by not dealing with it at all. All the anxiety, frustration and anger gets bottled up until something finally sends me over the edge, and being set off turns me into some sort of wild animal that screams and curses a lot.
Part of me feels completely justified in being angry that there are mice leaving little 'presents' on my furniture, while somewhere else there's a nagging feeling that maybe I'm making a big fuss over nothing. That self doubt permeates absolutely every thought I have, it minimizes things that I know are too serious to keep ignoring. It tells me things are just fine the way they are, and that I'm just being selfish for ever feeling otherwise.
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