Sometimes I am certain that minimalism would save me. When I look around in my home, it is full of stuff. It gives me the willies. I have bookcases with stuff, drawers with stuff, cupboards with stuff. I have books, folders, chargers, pictures, plants, and bowls, coffee machine, food containers, glass with spices, and tools, bags, rucksacks, shoes, etc. Everything two people would need, and a little more.
I was hysterical. That was the other day. I didn’t have any feeling with anything and all the stuff made me stressed. I cried in desperation. The stuff made me cry. The only thing I wanted was to throw out all the stuff. But it wouldn’t help me, would it? It can’t take away my depression, I see that now.
Lucky me that I have my husband, who is there when situations like this happens. He is far from a minimalist himself, but he is the most gentle and patient being. “Let’s clean stuff out,” he said to me.
Over and out.