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I’ve felt guilty since my Mother passed. Living here my excuse for not cleaning up and going through the mess in the house has been that I can’t deal with my Mother’s clothes. When I see them I cry. Well I don’t. I see them as if I am looking through a microscope. They’re on a different substrata than this earth. They’re not here for me. It’s actually not so much a problem. I could deal with them if I had the motivation.

My problem has become clear to me. I am worn out from constantly working around people and working on cleaning this house up. Before I even moved in here I’ve been cleaning up after my father’s hoarding and general deranged habits. How do I know my father’s habits? I have many of the same faulty logic glitches, the same delusions, the same hoarding practices and the same strange organizational methods that appear when I have an episode. What’s the difference between him and I? He had enablers, people who “picked up” after him. People who helped him look “normal”. People who would lie for him. My father was an alcoholic. I am not. How do I know for sure he was an alcoholic besides the common signs of alcoholism? He had an aneurism back in 2003. They took an MRI of his brain to see how it looked. The doctor told us that he had serious blood spreading in his brain. Then she asked us a weird question (weird for my family not me,) was he an alcoholic? My Mother and Sister kind of fumbled and said well he did drink but not that much. I blurted out that he was a bad alcoholic and drank a lot. The doctor told us that it was actually a fortunate thing that he was an alcoholic. (Of course this was after she kind of looked at us strangely.) He had a condition called wet brain. This is where usually an alcoholic has drank so much for so long that their brain decreases in size. The decrease allowed the blood to spread without crowding his brain so much that he’d get severe brain damage.

I’m not an alcoholic. I also do not have enablers. I isolate and attempt to look “normal” with different ways of coping and allowing myself to be seen by the public. I am adept at lying when I feel I need to protect myself. I can look like a “normal” person. I’ve been trained to present that front. Was it by society or my family, I’m not sure. Probably a combination of both.

I am worn out from the years of quietly and slyly cleaning up a mess that was not mine. I don’t want to do this anymore. The two people who kept this ruse of normality are gone. I don’t want to continue doing it. Especially since this house will not be mine in the long run. I don’t know if I should leave. I can’t possibly afford the rent and the utilities on this house. My siblings don’t plan on helping me out here. I don’t even know what to think. I’m lost and floating in an apathetic cloud.