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abandoned-apothecary · 5 months

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"Mold In This Home."

A metaphorical story about letting go of codependent relationships.

Boxes crowded the living room, the walls had been stripped of their pictures and other decorations, what used to be an extravagant living room had turned to a pale lifeless empty room.

I’ll admit it was hard and sad to leave behind something so familiar, I remember so many nights of pouring my heart into this home, giving it all that I was to make each room look enchanting.

The blisters, bruises and calluses had never gotten to me, no matter how much my friends or family pointed out how unhealthy the decorating had become over the years. What would they know? I would ask myself some nights I put in the work to keep this home, I love it enough to make the sacrifices for it. They’ll never understand

The choice to leave had been on my mind for a while yet nothing but anxiety and intrusive thoughts had stopped me from leaving this all too familiar safe space of mine.

“If I give it up now then I never truly loved this home properly.” “I’m nothing but careless” “Only a heartless person would make this decision, don’t you love the home?”

I felt alive when I decorated this home or as alive as the momentary gratification allowed me, being away from the home sometimes made me sick to my stomach, my hands would shake uncontrollably at the thought of something drastic happening to the home if I weren’t present in times of chaos, the anxiety of a storm or weathering of the home drove me mad some nights.

In my eyes the home and its appearance always came first, who exactly would I be if I left? I'd based my entire identity in being its designer, my worth was completely tied to everything about the house.

My mind had always been preoccupied worrying and thinking about the home and whether or not it was safe and secure.

Mirrors had never been an item of decor I’d ever looked into, why would I? I have a home and I should be lucky, why worry for myself or my appearance? Wasn't the appearance of this home enough for me?

I never understood the few mutual friends of mine who had homes yet also kept mirrors, don’t they realize there just isn’t enough time for both?

My home had become my mirror, I felt like myself when I was close, I felt alive, the thought of owning a mirror mirror had become pointless in my eyes because "if I was with the thing that brought me the most gratification and put a stop to the anxiety I felt when I was away, then why bother searching?"

Things started to escalate as they went down hill, no matter how much I catered to making the home look nice, no matter how much I attempted to pour my heart into finding that spark that I once had in decorating, my mind would always slip off wondering where my mirror had gone.

The home and its decor had began to slowly become mold in my life, it invaded my mind when I was away, like thick black mold, the clutter from the previous decorations had started to become a mess around my house, the clutter had started to become discouraging, the yearning for a mirror of my own began to grow, to see my reflection again instead of seeing the overwhelming amounts of clutter from the home started to be an every day thought.

How could I even think about the idea when on top of the decorating I had the clutter to now clean up by myself, a mess I created myself, I often felt frustrated some nights, attempting to find a substitute for the mirror, attempting to manage the anxiety of being away from the home. I'd feel defeated some days as I’d attempt to feel my face, trying to figure out my features and who I was before the home came into the picture.

The bruises and calluses had also started to manifest in my life, the nights I spent adding more decorations would often end in unexpected injuries to myself that became too painful to ignore.

Decorating the home I loved so much had became a chore I dreaded on one side of my mind, yet no matter how much I tried to pull away and take breaks from the decorating an amount unbearable of anxiety eventually caught up to me, leading to days of daydreaming about going back to decorating soon, it had become a nightmare, it began to be my only sense of identity and worth, it swallowed my whole life and my identity with it.

I don’t want to live like this anymore. I began to think to myself when I felt the urge to decorate again, the days had become gray and miserable without the home when I took breaks. The mold from the my "safe space" then began to affect my health, my sleep, my identity, it took it all from me.

I felt hopeless somedays, I often spent days hating myself for wanting my own mirror, hating myself for not decorating as much and thus proving my point that I was neglecting the one thing I promised I’d love the day I bought this space.

I knew where my mirror was but the anxiety of outgrowing my love for this home scared me, the anxiety that if I saw my reflection I’d never return to the home again, it felt like war in my mind.

The home had been mine for years, when I’d first bought the home I made a promise to myself that no matter what I’d put all my effort into it, I promised myself that I’d be better than any of the previous owners.

Things started to fall apart, the home began to become unsafe for me, the mold in the walls began to slowly creep down the walls, it often felt like being in the eye of the hurricane before pure destruction.

I don't exactly know how or why but something snapped one night inside of me, my body felt like it moved on its own as I made my way to the closet, my hands shook as intrusive thoughts desperately tried to direct me back to attending to the home.

"I am something without it" I thought as I forced my way through the clutter closer to the closet.

"Things will be better, please don't look in the mirror" My pleaded with me.

The home had been all I’ve known for years, seeing my reflection again after so long became a path I had always been too scared to go down. "What if I'm---different?"

The moonlight illuminated the mirror, my mind pleaded louder for me to turn my attention back to the home, it pleaded with me to make one final attempt to find that spark in decorating that I had in the beginning, as I looked into the mirror, the thoughts began to quiet, the thoughts slowly redirected their attention to the nights where I’d pushed myself so hard to the point of tears to be enough, to make this home my top priority.

As I met myself again for the first time in what felt like decades it was as if nothing changed, my high cheek bones, my olive skin tone, I felt as if everything with the home and the decoration evaporated into thin air.

I paused and looked back at the home, the spark I once felt had vanished as I finally admitted to myself "The home you once had is gone after all those years."

I smile to myself as I remember who I am, who I was without the home.

I can survive without you after all.

You'd lost your power over me, I slipped through your fingers as I learned to live my life properly without you, without your harsh expectations of me, the absence of you helped me to realize “I am enough.”

The End.

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:) Sorry if this is a little choppy, I'll be posting more in the future.

#my writing #mental health #codependency #recovering codependent #writing prompt

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