This is my closet now.
Kind of pretty, isn't it? It looks organized, I have a nice little work space. Things are in specific places, and I even have a spot for my taxidermied animal thingy.
I'm showing the "after picture" first because, frankly, it will look better in the preview picture in the link.
The closet had been a dumping ground for randomness since the day we moved in over a year ago. took four or five huge lawn and leaf bags of trash and four lawn and leaf bags to charity, twelve hours, and me falling down a massive rabbit hole.
You see, as I was purging, I realized that I hadn't touched some of that stuff since we lived in Tennessee- in 2012. That's three moves, an autism diagnosis (mine), a slight mental breakdown (again, me), another severe endometriosis diagnosis for me, and so much more.
As I was digging deep into crafting supplies, I kept wondering "why?" Why in the ever living shit did I have some of this?! I mean, at one point I was selling hair bows and accessories, so some of it made sense, but Jesus, why did I need five rolls of ribbon that were the exact same color? What the hell was going on with me when I was buying this stuff? And why was some of it so ugly?
Then, I remembered. And I got mad. I remembered Thomas and I fighting like all hell five years ago about my spending money on this shit and my denying it. The craft store was better than eating because I was steeped in anorexia and mania and I was out of control, all while trying so hard to pretend I was in control. It was when I was battling the school on IEPs, and Morgan's placement, and so much more. This was the time frame I became and advocate.
Before that time, I broke off contact with my biological father. I fired my shrink. I fired everyone. I went off my meds. I went full blown wide open. I lost my proverbial shit. All of that was in the closet, too, in pictures, journals, and drawings I'd hidden away from myself.
Mental illness- it had filled up bins, boxes, baskets, and bought hundreds of rolls of ribbons, and I'm not even sure how many fat quarters of fabric. I had hoarded and, scared to death of losing more things and I was losing control, I kept it all.
I threw out guilt as I threw out cards, papers, bags, notebooks filled with manic scrawling. Rage and sadness filled me because I wondered how much time I've wasted over the years due to this crap in my head.
By the time I was done, I felt as if I'd taken a long and hot shower. It was as if by unleashing my compulsiveness in a healthy way, I'd been able to clean out the recesses of my brain.