Documenting my journey through the mental health system

Slowly and methodically, I’m going through my small house and clearing a lot of things out, and cleaning a lot. My mother is not as clean as she thinks she is so it’s been a whole spring cleaning style endeavor. I enjoy it, I can meditate while I do chores and look after the seven cats and their three litter boxes and I really like a CLEAN house. It’s more than that for me, I want minimalism. I want less crap, less stuff. My collections of books notwithstanding. I’ve hauled out several bags of garbage and items for Goodwill, and a few things people were simply storing at my house. I can’t abide that anymore.

After work I went to the apartment with my brother, who is taking a lot of my old things that would otherwise go to Goodwill. I made him help me clean up and pack up more into the car. He took my vacuum and lamp and pillows I no longer need. He lives in a tiny room rented out of a house but the last thing in the apartment is also going to him – my mini-couch. It folds out into a bed, something he needs. Everything else is out except that. Need a truck. I have to go back and clean the floor but that’s it. My handyman says he can get it moved from point A to point B for me on Wednesday. I made yet another haul to Goodwill and got my car closer to cleaned out and ready for detailing. My car is my baby, and I like to detail it every week.

I still haven’t got through to the rental management. I could leave a message but I always hated doing that. Gives me anxiety and I sound stupid. My lease ended, it shouldn’t be a surprise. I left the apartment exactly as I found it, probably better.

I also haven’t got through to the graduate program’s advisor office. I really need to talk to someone about what classes I should take and when. I signed up for three and I think that’s too much but biostatistics isn’t offered again until winter. I also have to pay tuition soon so I need to narrow down the classes I definitely need.

Living with my mother again has been painful and surreal. A lot of my existence and how I live in my home is aggravating to her, for some reason. I know she sees me as incompetent, she said it once while we were in Vegas. I have taken over much of what she used to do and she doesn’t like the way I do things but also wants the privilege of being able to complain of having no help/too much work. I do my damndest to let this roll off me. I do my best to ignore it, there is no pleasing her. It’s painful to hear the complaining all the time. I know she is depressed – there is never anything positive or pleasant out of her mouth. She complains about sleep and won’t use her bed or room. Complains about being hungry while our kitchen is full of food. She complains of not going out while choosing to not go out. She even neglects her hygiene and complains about that and makes excuses about why she can’t wash her hair, etc. It is very hard to live with but I also feel really sorry for her. It’s pitiful, what she has allowed herself to become. Bitter, a shell of her former self, angry and resentful at perceived wrongs and grievances, no life, left all her friends in the dust, and only has me to rely on and hates me most of all.

There is nothing I can do. I used to try to fix things, find solutions to all her complaints and problems, but that made her angry too. I’d call her out – “you complain about this all the time! Do you want solutions or do you just want to complain?” She’d sputter and get defensive and angry. I implement solutions anyway, for example the vent cover to redirect air flow away from right on her bed. “Oh it doesn’t fit.” Always an excuse. It fits just fine because it’s adjustable.

The sleeping situation is…strange. She doesn’t want to use her room because of the draft from the air vent (hence the vent redirection cover) and complains about the mattress. I bought a new one, it needed replaced, to be sure. She will use it, but only on the living room floor. She calls her room “the storeroom” and won’t acknowledge it as her room. She also has the she-shed, built to housing standards, and is essentially a third bedroom detached from the house. She could sleep there, its bed is really comfortable, but she just won’t. There’s an excuse for everything, the point is to be miserable.

I know she wants it, at least to a degree, because I recognize it. I’ve dealt with it. The misery is addictive, it’s familiar, and contentment and peace is scary. It’s scary to change. Scary to try. Scary to fail.

I’m attempting, slowly, to solve this. I could force her, I know that much, but I don’t want the drama. I ordered vent redirection covers. I’m going to buy a newer, higher quality mattress. I don’t know what else I can do. She’s storing the mattress she sleeps on in my recently reclaimed dining room space.

My routine is essentially the same. I get up in the evening to get ready for work. I do chores, look after the cats, make lunch, drink coffee. After work I usually have to stop somewhere or make some phone call. I do more chores.

On Sacred Heart nights it’s a little different. The anxiety amps up in anticipation of all the triggers – driving by the mental hospital, working with patients who are suicidal, or in restraints, or dealing with violence. But the shifts are only eight hours long and I power through it. After I run errands, go to Idaho for cheaper gas, smokes, and liquor, and do more chores, more cleaning, more organizing. The seven cats in a 900 square foot house demands endless cleaning and chores because I like my house NICE. It is the ultimate DBT skill – build mastery.

In two weeks I’m having friends over for a bonfire and BBQ and that is my last weekend before grad school starts. It is something to look forward to, the only thing to look forward to. The DBT skill that is maybe hardest – building positive experiences. I’m doing that with a little party.