In a Room of Depression, There Is Still Room for Me
Written by Cayci Lefebvre
The time I spent in my bedroom was usually under the covers trying to escape from the heaping piles that surrounded me. Every time I looked around the room, it reminded me of how much I was holding onto. There was almost so much stuff, that there was no room for me.
I’ve had to move almost every year of my life and just about every one of my rooms have looked the same. I didn’t know how to unpack it, organize it and no matter what I tried, it was too hard to get rid of anything. As you walked into my room, you would see a small pathway to my bed and my desk. The rest of the space was filled by piles spread from wall to wall. Most of the stuff I owned, I left in boxes or in piles scattered all over the floor. I couldn’t tell you what these piles or boxes consisted of. They had grown larger and larger over the years as if they had a life of their own. It was an unlivable space.
When I attempted to clean my room, time after time, the piles would simply shift around, be left in the same place, or be completely ignored. I often times covered them with blankets. I put it off day after day. I didn’t want to face them. Just like my depression, it consumed me and instead of doing anything about it, because it was too hard, I closed the door.
I eventually realized I could no longer keep closing the door. Every time I had to open the closet door, I would see the piles building. If I didn’t start to go through them, there would really be no room left for me.
As hard as It was, I kept the door open. I started to face the things that surrounded me. I started to face my depression and in that moment, I realized I was more than the heaping piles that covered every inch of my bedroom floor. I realized I was more than my depression.
My bedroom showed my depression in a way I never did. It screamed for help when I was afraid to ask for it myself. It was hard to clear my room, like it was hard to clear my mind. My room never described the kind of person I am, it described how my depression affects me, and I know it will always affect me. I know it will consume me sometimes, I know it will be too hard sometimes. I know there will always be piles that will show up again from time to time that I will have to look at and go through.
but from now on, when they do, I will always make sure there is still room for me.