So I woke up today and I was feeling kind of antsy. Still happy with the living room and my mind is spinning a bit with some other possible organizational ideas (but that means I have to spend some money which I really can't do at the moment).
And I had taken a few Stack-A-Shelf shelves from our room and my son's room to help in the living room and I noticed that my son had some hidden piles of garbage.
I went up there this morning and I decided to move his furniture so he couldn't have these stockpiles anymore and I was like a bit of a wildwoman, and when I saw just HOW MUCH CRAP was in his room, I freaked out!
He wasn't home yet from his dad's but I was yelling downstairs to MOH about how much I could not believe what it was like up there.
So I switched around the furniture and decided how I was going to talk to my son about it.
He got home before I went to group, he LOVED the living room so then I took him up to his room. He liked how I'd moved the furniture but he was shocked at all the junk and crap and he asked me, with all sincerity, where it came from and did not seem to believe me when I told him it was all from his room.
I tried to give him some very clear directions on what to work on while I was at group and when I got home, his mood was good but there was minimal actual progress because he had a hard time knowing where to start.
What I find bizarre is that when it comes to helping someone ELSE find a way to start, I am great at it but when it comes down to ME figuring out how to tackle a big job and start something and such, I am overwhelmed and completely LOST.
So I was talking about all this at group and about some of what my son and I spoke about re: bipolar and I just started crying - which I did not expect.
MOH had been saying on Sunday that I was just having one of my "episodes" and I insisted that I wasn't because I actually planned the living room change instead of just jumping in and starting it.
But with my son's room, I just jumped in and started. And you know what? I was doing that sort of thing back when I was in grade school. I can remember periodically just moving around my bedroom furniture every couple of months.
And when I came home from group, I cried some more -- because I came to the conclusion that the only thing that makes me productive is this mental disorder.
So I feel down now.