Some people with OCD become hoarders. They cannot throw anything away.
I have the opposite problem, especially this close to Christmas when I await the deluge of STUFF that nearly knocks down my front door starting the second week of December when family parties begin in earnest.
In preparation, I start sorting through things, selling toys on craigslist, donating, donating, donating. All this would be fine if it wasn't accompanied by a physical sensation that is akin to what I imagine formication feels like.
Making this sensation worse is the anxiety of spending money, especially since we are in the process of getting new windows for the house (the seals on ours have failed causing condensation between the glass panes and making their efficiency nonexistent). We are hemorrhaging home improvement funds.
Finally, I'm having this weird, sorta unpleasant creative spurt, which may be a result of having too much stuff and trying to avoid spending money on stuff people neither want nor have a need for. I keep thinking of projects to use stuff around the house. I'm like up-cycling my life, which in theory sounds good unless the ideas keep pinging my head to the point that I go a little nuts.
I've drug out bowls I made last year using paper and feathers and am making more in an effort to use up what remains of the feathers and paper, and I'm also in the planning stages of some chicken wire projects. And I'm etching/engraving a bit too using whatever bits and pieces of wood I have around the house and can pawn off from my neighbors.
Sometimes I contemplate cleaning the house or making dinner, but not often.
I think I forgot to take my antidepressant today, and it shows.
I have the opposite problem, especially this close to Christmas when I await the deluge of STUFF that nearly knocks down my front door starting the second week of December when family parties begin in earnest.
In preparation, I start sorting through things, selling toys on craigslist, donating, donating, donating. All this would be fine if it wasn't accompanied by a physical sensation that is akin to what I imagine formication feels like.
Making this sensation worse is the anxiety of spending money, especially since we are in the process of getting new windows for the house (the seals on ours have failed causing condensation between the glass panes and making their efficiency nonexistent). We are hemorrhaging home improvement funds.
Finally, I'm having this weird, sorta unpleasant creative spurt, which may be a result of having too much stuff and trying to avoid spending money on stuff people neither want nor have a need for. I keep thinking of projects to use stuff around the house. I'm like up-cycling my life, which in theory sounds good unless the ideas keep pinging my head to the point that I go a little nuts.
I've drug out bowls I made last year using paper and feathers and am making more in an effort to use up what remains of the feathers and paper, and I'm also in the planning stages of some chicken wire projects. And I'm etching/engraving a bit too using whatever bits and pieces of wood I have around the house and can pawn off from my neighbors.
Sometimes I contemplate cleaning the house or making dinner, but not often.
I think I forgot to take my antidepressant today, and it shows.
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