I am a perfectionist. Everything bothers me because it is somehow not right, not fully, or not all the way. Nothing is where I left it. What I had mentioned bothered me went without notice again today as I found it in disarray. Where is the love and care of others who say care or love me, that worry and have/feel concern and yet when these things I dislike are present it is all forgotten somehow? The funny thing is, and it has to be very funny because I am the only idiot who is somehow perturbed by it all, that no one else sees it. It is as if I somehow made it and make it all up.
Things like let’s keep the home picked up, you know, if you have something on your hands, put it where it belongs once you’re done with it, dispose of it if it is trash, place it back on its receptacle if reusable, and etcetera. The washed dishes resting wet on the counter as if they couldn’t be dried and placed back in the cupboard. The asthma pump tube, the one that delivers the air from the machine to the mask lying on the floor as if the cats didn’t already tear up a lot of other things that are plastic which were lying on the floor in the past and we all addressed in conversation like mature adults, yet there it lies.
To err is as much a quality of humanity as is that of glass being fragile, and it is understandable, but every single time? I feel as if I was the safety officer at a plant and as I entered saw that the entrance had iced over throughout the night, reported it to the people responsible for keeping the area safe and clean, and at the end of the day I fell on the ice which had not been touched; yet somehow it is still my fault for coming in the next morning, having a meeting about it, and everyone in the crew responsible for taking care of the ice being utterly upset at me for bringing it up. How dare I, right?
Am I as much to blame for these things? I have thought about that. I try my best to ensure that I am the prime example of how things ought to be accomplished. Is my example followed? Not at all. It all falls on deaf ears, blind eyes, and unmovable hands. Do I get upset? Every single time. Is what I am upset about addressed? Not at all. However, I do get a lot bewildered looks very often, in the form of “I wonder why he is upset” or my favorite, “what did I do now”. And while those are in the forms of looks, which I cannot describe in words, the words do follow after a few days of me having to put up with this madness, because it is madness isn’t it? I am going to therapy because of this anxiety I have all the time and in the background of it all, while I am at the therapist, the home is being slowly put in the disarray that landed me in therapy so that I have more to say next week… I imagine that is the reason, otherwise they are trying their best to make me insane and just get me out of the house by way of a sanitorium.
After seven cats, 2 of them diseased, you’d think that someone in the family would notice that the cats eat, sleep, urinate and defecate, drink water, and require human hands for all those things to happen. For instance, if the cat has been sleeping in point A of the house for the past month, and is now sleeping in point B for the following month, and one more time switches from B, now to C, never returning to the previous comfortable spot in which they slept/rested back at A or B, then let us humans see if there is anything wrong with point A, just because we care about the inhabitants of the home if nothing else. But no, the spots remains full of shed hair, hairballs, and abandoned because of how uncomfortable and unbearable it is to lay there now that it is no longer clean until I go and take care of it. Even at times when the duty of cleaning the automatic cat bathroom (Cat Litter III) an event that encompasses,
- ensuring that the room/floor is cleaned,
- their water is filled,
- their dry-food dispenser full,
- the automatic pet-bathroom cleaned,
- and the same having enough cat-litter inside to the fillable brim -not necessarily in that order-
what gets done appears to me to depend greatly on the day it was done, the mood of the person that did it was in, etcetera, that is what determines how many of the tasks I mentioned get accomplished; somethingI take care of regardless of how wonderful or otherwise I feel.
You know, I don’t like the lights on. I suffer from cluster-migraines. Very often, as I come in a room, whoever is in it will do me the favor of turning the lights off or lowering the intensity. I am thankful as I suffer from photophobia due to the cluster-migraines. But, why is it, in a perfectly sunny day that all the lights are on in the kitchen, the window curtains and front door are opened all the way allowing the sun to pour through them, the under-the-counter lights shining over the marble countertops which reflects light, the light of the coffee maker shining it’s colors about its water dispenser further helping the overhead lights to shine throughout, the refrigerator having its own sets of lights which come on when opened, and whatever other device whether a cellphone, or tablet on, all of which have their own light sources, are always on? You know what is hilarious to all this in a perfectly sarcastic way, that when someone leaves the lights on in the living room, that pisses off my other half… the person who in the first place had all the lights on in the perfectly well-lit kitchen. It is beyond incomprehensible, what it is in fact is looney! Yet, I am the one that complains about everything, perhaps because of my depression, or post traumatic stress disorder, or because I just like to whine… regrettably, there can be no other possible sane solution or answer.
I remember my other half saying to me, “please don’t say the word relax to me, as I discovered in a psychology cession that it is a trigger to my anxiety”. To my surprise, being the perfectionist person that I am, I stopped saying the word. Why? Because my other half is sensitive to it and the last thing I want to do to this person I love is be insensitive, deaf, or blind to the issues which could be prevented so that her life is as best as I can help it be. Yet, that is not the treatment I see as being rewarded to me.
It is alright I suppose, as we are bound for imperfection in a life lived in a human carcass. No problem. I have to remind myself that it is not that I have had 20 years of marriage and experience to help me with the life I live today, but that life is in fact very unpredictable and the past is as much the past for people who have died as much as it is for love felt, nice things performed, and etcetera. At the end of the day it must all amount to nothing, because in the same way that I do not know the names of my great grandparents, no one will know of the anxieties that living bring about in my life, the terror that my life brings to those that I surround, and the fallacy that is the belief that we or anything can get better with time; for as I have learned, time only exists in people’s brains, reality is full of nothing but daily unknowns.
Yes, I will continue to keep the house in order, I will mention the things that I feel are out of place, I will resist the urge to get angry when I am looked upon with disbelief as I open my mouth to utter these nonsense words that are nothing but the overly repeated nonsense of yesterdays past, I will deal with the cats as they are my responsibility as they are everyone else’s, I will ponder over the lights being on all the time or the lights needing to be off in some places but not others, and I will continue to use my view of life starting every day over again instead of it being the culmination of events leading to today as I ponder heavily on how I loved yesterday because I wanted to. I love today because I feel it, should tomorrow come to pass, I feel that love can continue, not because I want to, but perhaps because underneath it all we are all masochists.
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