Just How Messed Up Am I?

This is a question I have been asking myself alot lately. I've also spent a lot of time pondering just what it is that has brought on the sudden fit of insanity. At first, I chalked it up to stress: maybe from work, maybe from home, I don't know, but STRESS. But then, while in a sobbing heap of insecurity, Manservant questioned me about what the hell was going on and starting taking wild shots in the dark. I don't know that he's right, but part of me is seriously considering seeking out the services of a mental health professional.

One thing that came out of my rumpled heap of weapiness was that I don't know how to be happy. I don't even know exactly what I mean by that, but I know something isn't quite right. I have a hard time relaxing and enjoying the people and the things around me. It's always been that way, really. I love spending time in my house when it's spic-and-span clean.

I relish it, I do feel I truly enjoy that. I had this ritual when I first moved out of the house and started university. I would clean my room. Fresh sheets, laundry done, everything tidy. I would light up this old-fashioned oil lamp that I have and play a relaxation CD that sounded like a thunderstorm and just chill. Those were truly blissful time. I loved it. Sometimes I would just listen and imagine myself sitting in the middle of a rainstorm, getting drenched and feeling that peace pour over me. And on a truly magical day, there would be a real rainstorm and I'd go sit on the patio of my apartment and soak it all in. Other times I would masturbate furiously the way only a single girl can.

We still listen to that CD every night when we go to bed, but it just doesn't have the same impact now as it did then. Because my room now is never that clean, never that organized, never that peaceful. I think that's it really. I long for that feeling of peace.

I used to do the same thing at every school break--I would spend a whole day cleaning and reorganizing my room. I would rearrange furniture, I would dust, wash walls, clear out old school assignments that I didn't need to keep any longer. My room was always spotless, everything in it's place, bed made and blankets smoothed flat. Once I bought my own house and was renting rooms to other students I got even crazier about it. Suddenly there were 3 other people in the house making messes and leaving them for later. Didn't matter whether it was dishes or laundry or pizza boxes--the very presence of these things caused me to exist in this constant state of a simmering rage. I just couldn't let it go--I was not very popular with any of my roommates, but I really didn't give a shit. It was my house and I wanted it clean. Even if I had to clean it myself (which I did).

Not much has changed. I still obsess about cleaning. I still alienate those I live with. I don't really mean to, but I sincerely wish my husband 'understood' me when it comes to this stuff. He doesn't really. He stands by the whole 'I'm a man. It doesn't look dirty to me so I have no intention of cleaning it.' Where my philosophy is more along the lines of 'oh, the kitchen hasn't been vaccumed yet today--better get to it.'

I don't know if any of this relates to my current state of mental dysfunction. I can't help but think it does.

The second thing, and probably the more interesting point to be making, is that I am experiencing a tremendous amount of pressure to perform when it comes to weight loss. Manservant and I have discussed frequently how important it is for me to lose weight. I am beyond overweight--I have about 70 pounds to lose before I hit my weight loss target and I would love to do as much of this work as possible before trying to get pregnant. There is tons of information around about obesity and fertility and I am scared to death that infertility is going to be a problem for me. My mom had many miscarriages and in the end had 3 girls each spread 5 years apart. Combine this with the fact that I am nearly 30 and I'm freaking out. I feel like this is my last kick at the can. If I fuck it up now, I'm, well, fucked.

Now, I know that this is not something that is written in stone. I haven't signed some kind of blood oath promising to get skinny before bearing children. I want to lose weight before getting pregnant, I really do.

There is one more piece to the puzzle. I do not want to become either my sister or my mother. Their lives are completely out of control. They behave as if they have no control over their destiny and sometimes I can't help but wonder if they believe it too. They are victims. It is everyone else who has screwed up somehow, but never them. They live in a constant state of chaos. Sometimes this chaos means that the Christmas turkey doesn't make it out of the oven until way after it's done. Other times the chaos means that your living room blinds have been completely mutilated by your 2 year old and you've done absolutely nothing to stop it or to fix it. You're content living with these total ghetto blinds.

Not me. Not ever. My turkey is always done to perfection and the entire meal planned to the T. My blinds are never fucked. And I did not get pregnant well before I ever intended to. Because you see, I didn't want to get pregnant, so I went about dealing with this in a responsible fashion. I used birth control.

I do not want to be like the other women in my family. And the thing that's scaring the hell out of me right now is that I am feeling just as unstable as they are in some ways. I keep my life pieced together far more effectively than either of them ever have. But how long can I maintain it? How long can I go before I crack?

We're about to find out.