Life seems to come with a lot of papers.
Everything. Everything comes with extra papers that you don’t need but seem so important. So, you keep them. Or at least, I keep them. Like the instructions for building those shelves, or the paper that came with my USB stick that is sixteen pages long with instructions on how to get to the same website in every known language on Earth. I don’t need this. But I might? What if I forget? But I haven’t needed it in the last twelve years since I got that USB stick.
I’ve been going to therapy for about a year now. I’ve had depression for as long as I can remember and it got really bad around the age of 16, and in 2013 when I was unemployed. I wish I’d been able to find someone who would teach me the tools I’m learning now. I’ve wasted so much of my life being shackled by my inner demons and now that I’m sorting through this pile of proverbial papers, trash thoughts I’ve collected, I realize now why I’ve always felt like I was behind everyone else developmentally.
Most of my life was spent dealing with trash. A year of learning which papers are trash and which ones to keep is a good start, at least. I’ll get this house clean.