Cleaning

This morning I awoke was a small case of the blues. I cannot say why I felt blue, but until after lunch I felt stress, but I wasn't sure why. And then I started to look around at all of my stuff. My closet had old winter sweaters dangling precariously from the edge, as if they were about jump. Receipts that I had yet to shred littered a chair in the corner of my room and then I looked inside one drawer in the bathroom. And so I began to organize and clean, starting with the dreaded closet. 

I have literally had sweaters from December sitting in a basket in my bedroom, with other more seasonably appropriate clothes piled on top. In the closet I had thrown various t-shirts on the same shelf with my sweaters and had not once put away my winter clothes, and yes, it is July. I took everything out of that shelf and yanked everything out of my impossibly small drawer and began the purging process. I had been holding onto clothes that I bought eight years ago when B and I first started dating, and could most certainly not wear again, as I am a little older and no longer need to wear smaller tops and such. Those clothes haven't yet been donated, but they were at least moved to a drawer in the guest room. I suppose when the next donation van comes around I'll throw them into the bag, along with other items I haven't touched. There is a certain sentimentality behind some of the items I have held onto, but at the same time, it is also true that as each year passes with B, I need to make way for the new, the future. So that is now all organized and folded away, and I promise that I will once again find myself in the same position, feeling stressed and pressured, but not knowing why, until I take a look at my closet. 

My drawer was worse than my closet. I had lipstick that I have had for about 9 years. No, I haven't worn it, but still, I had it. I also found some medicine that had expired. Away into my trash can it went.

Why do we hold into such meaningless things for so long? As I walked around the rest of my apartment, throwing things out that I have just moved from one location to the next, I realized that I had been holding on to many things that I have acquired since 2001 and even before. Is it a guilt for buying it in the first place, and then not wanting to throw it away, out of guilt? Or is it just that I try to hang on to things of the past because it gives me more security in the future? I sincerely think, with many things, that I could wear these things again, or that some day I will get use out of it, but ultimately I never do. I don't know, really, but I do know that I'm not alone in this. And I am hardly a pack rat, compared to many people I know.

But there is something....

I remember being in the fifth grade when my mother was enraged at me trying to get rid of clothes. I had balled them up and wrapped them in a blanket and shoved them under my bed. I was only 10, and that was about as much as I could do with getting rid of things back then. My mother found the balled up clothes and asked me why I did that. I told her the clothes didn't fit, and I couldn't wear them. In the true spirit of my mother, she then informed me that they didn't fit because I was too fat and that one day I would tip a park bench when I sat down if I didn't start to lose weight. After this inspiring speech, she told me that if I just held onto some of the clothes they would probably come back in style and I could wear them again. I know. It makes no sense. At first I'm too fat, and then I can wear them again when they come back in style.  I remember then that when she said awful things to me, silently to myself I ask, "How can you say thing to me? I'm your daughter." Somehow many mothers consider this a good way to make a child aware of their shortcomings: tell their daughters they're fat and maybe they won't end up like them. Tell a daughter to hold onto everything because you have let go of it all. 

One more thing happened that day. I had a nightmare. I don't remember what it was about, but I do remember waking up in hysterics, and when I ran downstairs to my dad, I saw my mom and started screaming when I saw her. Obviously she had gotten to me, and my dad had to wake me up with a gentle slap on the cheek.  And so it was that I started to hold onto things I no longer needed, and I developed a serious fear of being overweight.

When I went to see a therapist, I went in search of an answer: how do you get rid of these feelings that you created when you were young. How do you move on? The answer: you don't. You learn to cope. What is coping? Learning to deal.

I have learned to cope through making tiny baby steps towards normalcy, or whatever that actually is. I am okay with donating things I won't use. I am okay with putting on a little weight every now and then, and I most certainly don't refrain from eating or doing anything unhealthy. Now I try to stay in shape not because I think I'll tip a bench, but because I want to be healthy. I guess it's been long enough since that one day when I can just change and reverse course and realize that the woman who said these things to me was sick.

For me, cleaning is therapeutic. Just thank goodness it's not compulsive, and I also know that if the world gets out of order every once in a while, it's okay. It makes for a good day to purge all of the crap and reflect and realize that you've come a long way.