Anxiety levels are always high when I'm back at home. But not just in the typical ways you could guess for adult child returning back to den of someone else's rules and habits. I regress about 20 years in mentality, but whenever I open a cabinet or drawer to find it stuffed full of papers and tools and snacks and toys and just all around junk, I feel the daunting task of one day having to be responsible for cleaning it out. Then I slowly close the cabinet or the drawer and walk away and tuck myself into my temporary bed and try to sooth my brain into believing I can just pay someone to take care of the mess when the time comes.
I can't even bring myself to really stay in the kitchen. The fridge is full of 2, 3, 4, 5 year expired jars and blocks of things, and the pantry is full of 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 year expired bags and cartons of things. The reluctance to throw anything out. The inability to begin any form of organization. Is this mental illness?
Before you say anything, yes, this is where I get it from. But at least I have control over my own things. Did anyone ever question if I, too, have a mental illness though?
I made these fried enoki with togarashi last year and looking at this tangled mass of fungi without any indication of where it starts and where it ends is not unlike looking behind any door in my parents' house.
