Embodiment

My surroundings often portray the picture of my brain, if I'm feeling good and happy and productive, my space will always be in order, clean and with as little clutter as I can muster, given that my room is about 8m2.
I've never thought of how much of my life I've spent in my room, here in my house in Palma, in the US, in Buenos Aires...
The room I grew up in, was the size of a very large studio, 30m2, and 5m high ceilings, I had everything that gave my life, either meaning, purpose or good memories, even bad ones at times.
In that gigantic room, specially for a pre-teen, I had french style furniture, two desks, my big gas radiator, that gave heat to most of the house at winter time, I woke up innumerable times to my mom yelling at me because there was a pile of clothes in the way to her room, and she would trip over them. I had a few sofas and countless books scattered around, as the neatness of my personality kicked in, when I was a young adult. I even had a basement, painted pink with discarded pieces of whatever didn't fit the space upstairs.
I was filling the space as I mostly lived there, whenever I had people over, we would go to my room, even at 24, the last year I lived there, arguably already a full adult, and no longer going to the room to play with toys, but to talk with my friends, have coffee or tea, make plans for the night ahead, countless adult sleepovers, and many lovers too.
The clutter in my room at a young age, came from the usual, our brains are not fully settled into their ways, so everything was everywhere. As I grew in that room, things started having their place, and I would notice a pen out of its rightful spot.
I mostly lived out of my suitcases in the US, so is not much of a comparison, however, once I came here, and had an actual room again, I guess I had hope, even though I was nowhere I'd ever thought I'd be, I saw a little light, after dark times in the US, in a lot of aspects.
My room had barely anything on it, I had no work permit yet, so no money, neither did my mom at the time, and I had the cheapest futon, a 2 drawer little dresser, a few boxes with clothes and shoes from the opposing season, and a thrift store vanity.
As I had hope, and was fairly content, everything was in place, however when tensions started brewing I stopped swiping everyday, I left clothes and shoes all over, I had only a few books, at disarray and it mostly stayed that way until the day came in which, mom and me moved to our current apartment.
A lot of things happened here and still it doesn't feel like anything's changed at all, I still have the same default setting in my brain, if I feel good, my room looks good.
Right now I feel numb and fearful and in pain, and my room is a huge mess, even more so because I have an insane amount of furniture for such a little space, but taking a look around I couldn't help noticing that nothing has a place, except  for my books and make up, I hoard everything that doesn't have a place, anywhere else in the house, but it's not like I have a place to put those things either, so I just pile on any place I see free at the moment, I don't feel better looking around my room right now, and even my safe haven, has been vilified by my pain and fear.
I have changes to make to my room, and I can't even find the strength to put a few things on my desk neatly away. I'd like to believe things pass, as it's the nature of life, but this pain is a new kind for me, and up in my mind I know I have to let myself feel this way, but I also don't want to feel this way? So it becomes a battle between mind and heart, that my mind doesn't want to lose, but it cannot win either.
So here I sit, a mess of a cluttered room around my limp body, my ailing cat scared of loud noises on the bookshelf by the printer, and I can just keep the tears at bay, so she doesn't feel like she has to comfort me, when in fact, I am suffering so she doesn't have to.