I know what you’re thinking.

Amy, your depression lives in your brain.

Yes, yes it does.

But it is, at this very moment, living in my kitchen.

It is also living in my bedroom.

These two places are usually the most disorganized spots in my apartment.

If it migrates to my dining room, I’m in a rut. I will eventually do a big clean and feel a bit better.

My bedroom fluctuates. Clean/Disaster/Clean/Disaster. It ebbs and flows with my moods.

It’s akin to my finger chewing with my anxiety.

My depression needs somewhere to go. It shows itself like this: me surrounding myself with “stuff” to make me feel like I have a fort. I can stay in there and no one can “find” me. This isn’t good, but sometimes it is what it is.

Another thing about my fort: it gets really hard cleaning it all up after I tear it down.

Maybe I should just stick to the original blanket fort.

Less messy, and easier to clean up.