How to tell I am single: this picture is the other side of my bed. My bed is my sanctuary and my little Nest. A place from which I write, draw, watch Netflix and generally spend my relaxation time.
I never actually make my bed. It always seems like a pointless exercise. Sure it gets clean sheets every week, but I never tuck in blankets or make it look pretty. I’m just going to untuck everything and recover it in my creature comforts anyway.
Perhaps some of this is a function of the mental illness I live with. I know others with bipolar disorder who struggle to keep things organized as well. Right now, this is the corner of my room:
As you can see, I have some picking up to do before I can vacuum.
Some days my inability to keep my space organized is overwhelming. I just sit on my bed and ignore the rest of it, just as a way to stay sane. It’s probably not the healthiest of options, but cleaning is often more than I can bear.
My bed is my hideaway. I bring things to it to make it more comfortable like a bird feathering its nest and I feel safe.
Photos by me.