It’s been two decades since I first encountered the challenges of depression, and during that time, I’ve faced numerous invisible symptoms. These hidden signs often allowed me to mask the true depth of my struggles from those around me. However, one symptom I want to discuss here is both invisible and visible yet often dismissed as mere laziness.
For nearly three years, I’ve slept on various couches instead of my bed. The only times I actually used a bed were during trips. I’ve always been somewhat disorganized; I often find myself trying on multiple outfits, leaving a trail of discarded clothes on my bed and floor. Empty soda bottles seem to accumulate around my living space, and half-finished coffee cups can languish for weeks until they become a smelly reminder of my neglect. My laundry hamper regularly overflows, and in the past three years, I’ve done laundry only sporadically. More often than not, I resort to buying new socks rather than sorting through the chaos that fills my room. Dust and dirt collect on the windowsills, and I rarely get around to cleaning them. The habits I could elaborate on are countless.
Yet, I don’t consider myself a messy person. When I cook or bake, I clean as I go. Before the holidays, I took the time to tidy all the pantries and cupboards in my kitchen. My bookshelf is more organized than my laundry routine, and I even arrange my phone apps by color. I genuinely enjoy organizing my environment, but it seems I can only manage it when I’m out of a depressive episode.
It’s been three years since I last had the motivation to clean my room thoroughly. Recently, however, I managed to donate bags of clothes, catch up on my laundry, and sleep in my own bed for nearly a month. Each night, I take the time to straighten up any mess from the day, and I’ve found myself vacuuming obsessively.
This pattern is familiar to my friends and family. Many people see my clutter and assume they understand its cause, but in reality, it’s often a silent cry for help that goes unnoticed. The state of my environment reflects my mental state—when I am spiraling into depression, my space becomes cluttered, disorganized, and dusty, mirroring the chaos in my mind.
My messy habits have led to tension with my loved ones, who sometimes use the disarray to criticize me. This can be painful, as my mess is not simply a character flaw but rather an indication of my mental health.
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In conclusion, the connection between my living space and mental health is undeniable. The clutter surrounding me often signals a deeper struggle that deserves understanding rather than judgment.
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