I had every intention of being productive. I find myself saying that a lot. Every intention of starting and finishing something in the day. Every intention of getting up early, going to the gym, getting coffee, starting a million little ideas and finding ways of finishing them. That was my intention but like all great ideas, some of them just stay ideas without the follow through. You have these ideas of expectations of how your life is suppose to react, then life gets mixed up with reality. I wasn’t feeling really well and by the time I started feeling better it was already 11 am. Which of course I could have just started my day later but the momentum of starting just became the biggest killjoy.
Somewhere between when the morning and afternoon came together, I decided that since everything got off at an awkward start that I would clean my closet. I’ll be honest (this honestly thing becomes a recurring theme in my life), I have let a lot of things fall through the cracks. My room has sat in the same position for the past 2 years and my closet is just as pathetically disgusting. I don’t understand it. I am a fairly neat person, I hate when my room is filled with clutter and chaos. By the time I come home, I just don’t want to be bothered by anything. I see books clutter open spaces, I see clothes overlap chairs, I see stacks of papers and unopened envelopes collect dust on every desk and table as far as I can see. My closet is no exception. I get an idea in my head of how my closet should be, and a few months of this feng shui works fine and then the rest of the year its utter chaos. I am a packrat when it comes to clothes. While everyone else hoards memories with material objects, I have a hard time letting clothes go. Sure I’ve sold a few new items on social platforms, I’ve given clothes away to family members or friends, but even through that cleansing I still have a lot to go through. In a way I could get rid of every last item in my room but my clothes are the hardest to let go. In a way my closet is like my Toy Story and every article of clothing has a living breathing purpose and pulse. Every piece tells a story better than any photograph could.
Even with all these stories and adventures, I just can’t seem to find a purpose in this closet. It feels like everything is falling apart in this closet, even though no one else can see it but me. I purchased a garment rack over a year ago and due to the weight of clothes, it was slowly falling apart (literally falling apart). Clothes were spilling out from every side of my closet and slowly were spilling out into my room. They say your home is a representation of yourself and at this point, my room was telling me my life is a mess. I don’t have an organized process to clean my closet. I usually just start throwing things onto my bed and then go from there. I started moving everything from the back of the closet to into the front and realized how many things where hidden in the chaos. You start going through your nostalgic reasons for having things and then you realize how silly that makes you seem. On top of an almost tragically broken garment rack, I found an old collage of a band that I used to love hidden behind all the clothes and shoes. This collage that once served a purpose in my life was now just a distant memory hidden in my closet for no one to see. I guess in a way I felt bad that I wasn’t taking care of my stuff, let alone my own life. I watched how things I had long since forgotten, just happened to be found within the chaos of my closet.
I guess you can say it started with the garment rack and ended with the dresses. It was like something hit me hard in my chest and worked its way to every single one of my feelings. I became frustrated fixing the garment rack that once it was fixed, I just wanted to rip everything off the hangers. Of course I can’t go into anything in my life lightly. I have to go into dramatics, throw my hands up in the air, scream a variety of colorful words, and have a complete meltdown. This didn’t feel like a normal meltdown. This felt like a million different fingers pointed back at me, for a variety of different reasons. I can’t let go of the past and being in this closet assured me of that. I felt the weight of a hundred dresses and their stories pointed back at me for everything I had done or was doing. Somewhere between the garment rack and the dresses, I hid myself in my bathroom and cried. I can’t keep it together anymore, I can’t even pretend to know what I am doing with my life anymore. The longer I hide things deep in my closet, the sooner its going to spill out into my life and mess up my present. I wish I could say I knew this was going to happen, that I could pinpoint the exact moment that everything started feeling like it was falling apart but I can’t. I can’t because honestly I don’t know. I keep so much of life inside that when I can’t anymore, anything and everything becomes a trigger. Even a tiny garment rack and a closet full of dresses.
I didn’t stop crying once I left the bathroom. I didn’t stop crying when I fixed the garment rack and I didn’t stop crying once I sat on an empty space in the closet hugging all my dresses. Maybe, I am truly crazy. Maybe, I shouldn’t be here. Maybe, everything I am doing in this life is wrong. I wanted to disappear and run away. Run away from everything that was sitting in front of me. This hurricane of clothes that overtook every inch of my closet. This hurricane of memories and nostalgia that can’t help but continue to keep me down. I wanted to go hide in the dark and return to my self destructive nature. Cut up every single one of my old scars and burn every last one of the feelings I had inside of me. I wanted too. Anything that would take away these feelings. But I didn’t do any of those things. Not any of those things. Instead I sat with my legs crossed and picked up every dress from the floor and removed the hanger. All hangers in one place. All dresses in another. The past has a funny way of hurting even after everything has been said and done. On the days you’re hurting the pain of ghosts seep right through you. I have never been immune to that. I placed the pile of dresses on my lap and couldn’t help but rest my head on them. Then I continued to cry.
“You never finish what you start”
I sat there paralyzed in my own bullshit, because thats what this was, it’s complete and utter bullshit. I thought of 1000 ways to die. How life would be better without me but that was all bullshit. I will be honest with what I have to say, I was missing people. It doesn’t matter how much a person can hurt you, what hurts the most isn’t what they did to you, its the vacant feeling you have in your heart once they leave. Thats what I have been feeling. I was missing people I should have forgave and forgotten a long time ago. I was missing things that no longer exist. I was missing a person I no longer was, in favor of what I was doing. That is not healing. That is not moving on. It’s amazing what your mind does when you’re upset. Flashbacks, conversations, and photographs. I am really good at keeping everything hidden inside of my heart until one day everything starts spilling out. In that moment, I thought about the dresses. Each dress distinctly different in style and color. I thought about the last time I wore each dress and if they served their purpose. I thought about memories I thought I had forgetten and memories I can’t seem to forget. Then before I knew it, I stopped crying.
I know I am not where I am suppose to be. I know that I have done a lot of things differently than I had expected. I know that I have let a lot of people hurt me and I in turn have hurt a lot of people. Its not my quest to be perfect, and as human as I try to be I will continue to make mistakes. It took me to clean out my closet to realize that at this current moment I am not good to anyone right now. I can’t keep my life together, what makes me expect the same from others. As much as I miss people, I can’t help them and they can’t help me. People have lives to lead and follow. I have to do the same for myself. I’ll always have the closet full of clothes and the hundreds of dresses waiting to be worn. But my memories don’t live there anymore.
Before I could shed another tear, I picked myself up and started putting the dresses back on the hangers. Followed by color, then by style. Dress by dress back on the garment rack. Memory by memory back to the racks that hold on to life on every plastic hanger. Everything back to it’s right place.