Almost a year later, here I am.

I've neglected this blog and writing in general for a long time. There are always the usual excuses; feeling too tired after a long day of bullshit at work, not knowing what to write, etc. But there's also the fact that even though it's been almost a year and a half since moving out, the trauma that came from living with a hoarder is still something that affects me deeply. Nothing ever feels clean enough, no matter how much I've tried.

A lot of things have taken place in the past year, some of which I'd like to forget. Last summer was particularly hard to get through. My roommate at the time had decided to not only force me to move out in order for her friend to move in, but to lie about the reason why. She claimed her mother had been abused by her stepfather and needed a place to stay, which was unnecessary in my opinion, but in the two weeks that it took to find a new apartment she also turned into the most inconsiderate, disgusting and self-serving person I've ever met in my life.

Anxiety and depression were at an all time high at this point, and there were several times throughout last July and August that saw a dip in my performance at work. The anxiety made me feel too sick to eat, and I ended up losing a lot of weight. While searching desperately for a new place to live, my former roommate and I were fighting over my part of the security deposit, which she wanted to keep regardless of having no valid reason to do so.

One of my friends had mentioned he was interested in looking for a new apartment as well, so we decided to start searching for a two-bedroom to share instead. I figured it would be easier now that both of us were looking at listings, calling realtors and viewing apartments. Unfortunately after an entire week we had come up with only one vaguely promising listing, which ended up falling through shortly after. We resorted to walking in to every real estate office in the neighborhood in person, only to be told nothing was available. I was ready to give up. It felt like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Luckily, my friend and I managed to find an amazing place only a week before I had to move. Since then things have been better, though I still find myself struggling; depression and anxiety are still a major part of my life, and the process of finding out how to deal with it hasn't been an easy one.

Continuum

Looking back upon the last few months, there has been one constant over that course of time; depression is a never-ending, continuous presence that varies in intensity but has yet to actually lift. There may be bright spots here and there, but even with the massive overhaul my life has been going through it's still always in the back of my mind. It's always ready to surface at any moment with even the slightest provocation, and although it may come across as naive, I truly believed a better job and moving out were going to make a bigger difference than they have. I'm told I've improved by the few people that truly know who I am on the inside, but from my perspective it just doesn't feel that way.

Stress has been the biggest trigger, unsurprisingly. Workplace stress and the feeling of being scrutinized for every minor thing have exacerbated the problem to the point that I wake up angry, full of unexplained rage before I've even left my apartment. My worst habits are trying their hardest to come back and are succeeding. 

Irritation

A few weeks ago, my roommate's boyfriend let himself into our apartment to use the bathroom. He thought no one was home, and wore his shoes inside in spite of being asked not to, fully knowing that she and I are both struggling with OCD. He had no idea I was in my room at the time and likely figured no one would know.

While I was wildly uncomfortable with knowing he was coming here without ever extending the courtesy of asking me if it was all right first, I said nothing to my roommate. I figured I was just being overly sensitive, considering they've been together for over a year and I'm the 'newcomer' in this apartment. However, it sparked an anger in me that I haven't felt since working in retail and has flared up every time I see him here.

Now I find myself faced with the same problem yet again, and can't bring myself to confront him in the moment. I can't help but wonder if he does this every time he thinks no one is home, and it makes me feel as though my space is being invaded. It's a strange grey area I never thought I'd experience in any of my friendships; do I bottle it up to avoid making my roommate feel awkward, or do I tell her and take the risk of looking as insecure as I feel about claiming personal space?

Brighter Days

My mood has seen a definite improvement compared to the constant, extreme depression I'd been struggling with ever since moving out. The warm weather and sunny days are surely a part of the equation, but there are other things that are no less important; forcing myself to go out, to be social, to reach out more often and to resist the instinct to sulk have all been helping to pull me out of the rut I'd settled into.

Hopefully this is a mark of improvement rather than a brief period of relief from the low point I always seem to fall back to. Feeling this way is so completely different that it seems foreign, as if I'm not myself. Things seem clearer and easier to take in, instead of the usual sense of being overwhelmed by life itself.

Disbelief

I recently discovered something incredibly unsettling with a card I had paid off and haven't used or checked in a couple of months; my mother has been using it as if it's her own to pay off her bills and buy food. It explains why I hadn't been able to find that particular one before moving out. Although she's apparently been making payments on it, it's only the minimum due and the balance is several hundred dollars. She clearly doesn't understand how credit works, because this is the case with all of the cards in her name as well - maxed out and paying the lowest possible amount each month. The interest charge is usually enough to negate it, so the balance never goes down. And she simply does not understand that. I feel incredibly betrayed by this, especially considering she 'borrowed' $50 from me recently just to prevent the power from being turned off. I also feel like an idiot for ever trying to help her out.

Before I moved out I had paid off everything, just so I wouldn't have the extra worry of outstanding debt on top of rent. Just the idea of being that much in debt thanks to my own mother makes me feel sick.

Adjusting

In spite of having spent the majority of my life dealing with chronic depression, there are still times when it manages to surprise me in ways I would've never expected. Even when surrounded by loved ones on a day that's supposed to be a happy occasion, such as today, depression is a distracting presence even while I'm doing something I enjoy. In the process of discovering how to allow my 'true' self and emotion to show through, I've also discovered that it's becoming more difficult to hide the things I used to be all too good at hiding; anxiety, self-consciousness, sadness, and exhaustion to name a few.

Although I know it's not a terrible thing to show negative as well as positive emotions, I'm still adjusting to the idea that I can be myself around other people. I haven't quite gotten to the point of no longer feeling as though the world is separated between two distinct entities: 'me' and 'them'. How is it possible that even with a group of close friends I still feel like an outsider? Clearly logic can't apply to any situation dominated so thoroughly by negative thinking.

But, on a positive note, I've realized the recent spike in depression wasn't enough to overshadow everything. Being able to not only feel love, but feel loved in return is something new. What I had been experiencing before was a watered down version in comparison, apparently. It had been that way with everything except depression and self-hatred for a very long time, and I imagine the probable numbness to other strong feelings was a side effect of already being at my limit emotionally. I'm sure there were other factors involved, such as being afraid to allow anyone in and being too scared to open up, but I think it's safe to say that's no longer the case.

In all, I've felt overly emotional and conflicted ever since I moved out, but I don't regret it. I have no choice but to face the codependency issues with my mother head-on, and have just come to truly realize how bad the house was compared to living 'normally'. Now that I have a calm place to go to when feeling overwhelmed, everything else has become much easier to handle.

Breaking

Getting my life in order has proven to be much more difficult than I thought, and although two major events have improved it in ways that were once unimaginable, the anxiety has been at an all-time high in spite of the progress I've been making. I experienced a complete shutdown for the first time in a very long while, and found myself unable and simply not wanting to speak to anyone or do anything for several days. Interaction with anyone felt pointless, and thoughts of no longer wanting to exist have come back. Anger has returned as well. I'm told this is probably the result of directly challenging myself to live in a way completely opposite to what I'm used to. I now have the freedom to be open, sociable, honest, and no longer have wear a mask to hide who I am. If all of these things are nothing but positive, why does it feel so terrible?

What's most concerning is the fact that good experiences only help for a short time, a day at the most. After that, depression and self hatred find their way back into every waking thought. It seems uncontrollable. It's impossible to feel like I've made giant leaps in the right direction in spite of being told so by those whom I trust most. I find it difficult to avoid defining myself by their opinions, only because I feel I can no longer trust my own terrible opinion of myself.

As far as my current environment goes, it's helped immensely in calming down from the panic attacks that have been  happening almost daily. Calming down wasn't even an option in my mother's house. However, I keep catching myself in moments of dread any time I see a mess, regardless of how small. It's hard to avoid thinking I'll turn out like my mother just because I left something on the kitchen table rather than putting it away immediately. This fear arises with the most mundane things, such as noticing a pile of unfolded laundry my roommate happened to leave behind on the sofa. Seeing the sink full of dishes that were not mine. Finding dust on the kitchen counter. An endless list of things that most people don't care much about, and yet OCD mixed with the fear of becoming a hoarder makes it torturous to see anything out of place.