My Dark Side

People often ask me "How do you manage 5 kids?" or they say things like "I have 2 and I am going apeshit...I don't know how you do it." You know what I say in response? "Yea, this whole having kids thing just was so easy I decided to be a Duggar, but without the religion or disgusting casseroles." That's right. I fucking lie. This may come as a shock to you, since I am so honest on my blog and my facebook page. But what I say on line and what I say to your face in person are two different things. Why? Because I don't want to scare well meaning people who are just trying to make conversation, or are nosy as fuck and don't really care (I bet these nosy fucks are addicted to reality tv as well...I am not a reality show..stop asking me if all the kids have the same dad, when am I getting my tubes tied, and how much money I make, like this is some episode of MTV's true life: I hoard children.)

The truth is. I struggle. Hardcore. My house is a wreck right now for example. I have been telling myself for months that it was okay and everyone who enters the domain is going to forgive me because I just had a baby. It hit me yesterday though. I didn't just have a baby. The baby is nearly 9 months old. Soon, he will be crawling. This terrifies me. His little hands and knees and mouth are going to come in contact with the floors, the walls, the toys, the microscopic cracker crumbs in the corner, the dead flies on the window sill, etc. I told myself when I was pregnant with him, that I could organize and clean everything when that nesting instinct kicked in around 7 months, just like I did when I was knocked up the previous times.

Except I never made it to 7 months pregnant.

Fuck.

The other thing I realized is that my house is so bad right now, if Nate Berkus showed up, he would have to get the folks on Hoarders to come bring their dump trucks first. I honestly don't get it. I have no attachments to items. I throw shit away all the time. I am constantly doing laundry. Constantly cleaning up someone, or someones mess. And still. This place is a hovel.

Also the other interesting twist to my dilemma, is that I have OCD.

Now I know that everyone feels like they have OCD at times, and when I tell people this they usually come up with some OCD-like symptom to make an example of how they too have OCD. Your color coded book collection, your obsession with vacuuming in a specific pattern, your awesomely famous way of making your bed, are all something to behold. But you are probably fine.

Here are my examples of OCD (not to say I am proposing that I am the only one that suffers this bat shit crazy way of life, my OCD folks out there will want to high five me for telling it like it is, because half of this shit is not talked about because it is so absurd)

~I can tell you exactly how that stain got there, because I cringe ever since it happened. Every stain on the carpet. Except the one under Sprite's desk. I smelled it. I think it is milk. But she hates milk, so I can't be sure.

~I always ALWAYS buy the second item behind the first item displayed. The first one has been touched, and therefore, is disgusting and not as fresh.

~If I see a cluttery mess, I have no problem throwing it all away. Unless it is truly valuable and unreplaceable.

~I feel guilty about going to bed. I berate myself about dirty dishes as I drift off to sleep.

~I have a physical twitch if I touch something greasy. My eyes water. I wash my hands repeatedly every time I touch something oily. Also static makes my eyes water. If I see a balloon, my fucking eyes water. Just thinking about the crackle sound in the clothes that come out of the dryer, makes me tear up.

~If I can't do something that I really feel needs to be done. My whole world crashes. This happens every day.

~I can't decide anything. Therefore, I hate shopping. I have to have a pre set list, or I will stand in the shampoo aisle for 30 minutes. I will walk circles in the clothes department if I am just browsing and do not have an actual need. I have to know EXACTLY what I am there for so I can narrow it down.

~I can't park my van unless it feels right. I will circle a parking lot 20 times looking for the spot "that feels right" and I am a checker. I repeatedly lock and unlock my doors, repeatedly look in my purse to make sure I have my keys before I leave the car un locked. I keep it un locked in case I lose my keys. This makes zero sense. But "it feels right."

~If my handwriting changes half way through writing out my uber specific to do list. I start over.

~My house and my environment hold my self worth. I will tell myself that I am a fat lazy heffer as I walk by a cluttery mess. I have been in years of therapy so I just repeat to myself that my house can burn down in flames and we could get a new one. But if I went down in flames, people would be traumatized for life.

I am worth more than my house.

~I can't eat left overs. It is not new. It is not fresh. It feels touched.

This is just a small snap shot of the things that I often deal with. The rest of it, I have learned to manage. But right now, this whole OCD and house situation is driving me banana sandwich. It is holding me back from going places, literally and metaphorically, and frankly, I am sick of it.

So, instead of climbing in my bed and saying "fuck this shit in the neck," I am going to do what I have done countless times to set my shit straight. I am going to keep telling myself, that despite my un organized everything, I am a fantastic mother. Despite that cake batter that is on the ceiling, I am not worthless. And despite having desperately low self esteem, The Biff thinks I am fucking wonderful.

If I keep doing this mix of pumping myself up and actually taking steps to achieve balance, maybe when Nate shows up, I will actually let him come inside.

For the people who have actually been to my house. I apologize. Instead of getting ready for your visit, I was doing this: