I look around me and I see- clutter. Junk. crap. I close my eyes and I feel- Clutter. Junk. Crap. This cannot be a coincidence. Rather than desiring sleep the last few days I’ve desired nothing but cleanliness.
Normally spikes of productivity hit me and I feel inspired and empowered to make a difference. I clean out my closet, or organize my desk, or complete multiple swaps I have on my list. Usually the inspiration lasts long enough to accomplish one goal or maybe two before the energy drains and I feel accomplished.
This has not been the case recently. With my head as messy as my room I feel an unbearable need to clean. To impulsively throw out everything I don’t absolutely love and need.
This may seem like a good thing and is probably the perfect way to lead myself into the minimalistic life style I think is so inspiring. This impulsive desire is also, Im realizing, a form of self sabotage or self harm. For in these hectic moments filled with unquenchable passion for purging I am heartless. Memories mean nothing as I throw them in a trash can. Christmas bags then could be used hundreds of more times are only viewed as something that takes up space. Things the hoarder in me would usually save for a rainy day or future project are thrown away without a second thought.
Sure the desire is filled. In that moment I’m satisfied. But then I wake the next day with precious things gone forever simply to satisfy the intense overwhelmed internal conflict of the night before.