Living with chronic illness; be it physical or mental takes a ridiculously gross toll on everything in your life. There’s no “quick fix,” to being empty of even the energy to wash your own face in the morning, let alone clean your home like “normal” people do. (Please imagine my hugely sarcastic, eye rolling finger quotes being made in the air as I say normal. ) Cleaning during depression can be like climbing a mountain naked armed with a pencil and a pack of stickers. Medication is great, but it’s never an end all, be all, cure all. There will be days where your shit will simply not get together, personal hygiene becomes an afterthought, dishes pile in the sink, never or barely rinsed, and you’re pretty sure the clothes on the floor in your room have become sentient. It’s overwhelming to look around you and see your home reflect the state of your mental, emotional and physical shambles—and knowing you should care, and you should do something; but you just can’t drum up enough feeling to do anything than feel miserable and not caring. And then that sends you on a lovely guilt spiral that makes you want to do anything even less. And the cleaning never happens.