Okay, for the first time in months, I opened the surface cleaning file, updated things, etc. I can’t say that I swept a floor, washed a window, etc. but I have been whacking away at the dirty bookcase in the corner of the bedroom — so there’s some progress.
Lunch & dinner got made, and the dishes got washed. The sink has been cleaned as as been the toilet and the food was put away. So that stuff is STILL getting done.Trying for the next step has been a bitch. Starting then stopping then starting, again.
There are days when I wish I could just beat my abuser. The PTSD is bad enough, the emotional abuse certainly wasn’t fun. But the lack of being safe physically or having a safe “nest” anywhere, except that stereo cabinet for a while, is just a visceral thing. I panic about feeling so exposed, so vulnerable. People will know what I care about. People will steal my things. People will break them.
Yes, I know that’s all bullshit, intellectually — that doesn’t help. Counting things in/out was for me a distraction from the panic. It was a possible workaround. It worked for a while — but then it got too big AND possibly successful.
That’s the problem with the surface cleaning thing too. It might just work.
At some level, that throws me into a literally screaming panic. I can, for a while poke at a piece of the house, like the bedroom, or the bookcase, or whatever. I make myself get up from a computer or book and go DO something, several times a day. I cook, I throw clothes in the laundry, I work on crafts, I wash dishes. I do maintenance cleaning. But there are a LOT of things in this house that need to just go away, boxes and boxes of them. And it’s like pulling teeth to get myself to do it.
It’s f’n frustrating! This is the last really big piece. I have to finish the memoir and I have to do this. I can’t do some of the things I want to do, like host a party or two, unless I do this.
There are days when I wish I wasn’t a fighter. That I could just accept, “Okay. I’m like this — too bad.” like almost everyone I know. Life would be much easier!
Yeah, yeah. Okay the pity party is over. I’m not sure what I’ll get done — but I’ll stop bitching about it anyway.