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Everytime my mom asks me to clean my room, I do the typical teenage thing. I throw things in my closet where they eventually crumple up and die, and I pile everything else into a corner. I shove things in my drawers and hide things behind things behind things. Have you BEEN in my cupboards, drawers and shelves? I have stuff down there that probably hasn't budged since the day we moved into this house. I'll buy tupperware tubs and folders to help me get organized. I'll reorganize my shelves, label boxes and sort things by colour. I'll sort by date. I'll sort by type. I'll put everything that relates to each other in one area. It never works. I'm just moving all my crap somewhere else. Wait, actually, who the heck organizes crap?

I have this issue: I can't throw things out. Ever. I have legit have all the Valentine's cards I was ever given from Gr. K-4. I have leaves stuck on my bulletin board from the days of the mushroom cut. I have old Beyblades, pens and toys from way back. I even still have some of my spelling test from Gr. 5. I'll hold onto everything for dear life thinking that it'll be the end of the world if I throw it out. Even that Kinder Surprise that I bought 50 bajillion years ago. Yes, I will die without it.

Some days, I'll sit in all my junk and wonder what on earth I'm going to do with my life. I mean, if I can't handle keeping my own room clean, how can I handle anything else? Other days, I'll be so determained to do a deep clean of my room and actually start throwing things out. I never make it through. I always give up, because I know that it would take me at least a week to finish throwing everything out that I don't need, especially since I wince everytime I dump a memory into the trashcan. No exaggeration. Sometimes, my friends will help me, but we never get far enough to even make a dent in the mess. It just starts building up again after they leave. Not only that, but I get angry when my parents try to clean my room for me. They don't know where things go, and I don't want them going through my stuff and throwing things I think I need away. They always tell me I should be ashamed of all the junk in my room. I always pretend that I don't care and tell them that it's not like the mess affects them. They don't live here, I do. Secretly, I am ashamed. I'm ashamed that I can't see my desk or my floor. I'm ashamed when other people see how much of a slob I am. I'm ashamed that I have to sleep in my mess. The worst part is, I sit there being ashamed and feeling sorry for myself instead of actually picking things up. If I ever do snap out of it, my mindset is that I have to fix it all myself.

... I'm not sure if I'm talking about my room anymore.

Actually, I wasn't really talking about my room to begin with, if you catch my drift.

Just imagine if I was smart for once, and I let God help me clean. It'd be stellar wouldn't it?