Every semester my room undergoes a change, like clockwork. It begins looking like my planner, everything organized and color-coded, outfits in the drawer ready to go for the week.

Yep, this is exactly what my room looks like.

I mean, I always have a healthy amount of a "comfortable mess" in my room. The bed is always unmade and one or two clothing items are on the floor, but this doesn't mess with the Feng Shui. It just makes it feel a bit more homey, lived in.

Week three, my room begins looking like its old self. I have lost every single syllabus in my room, and the floor has all my paper printouts across the floor. The amount of clothes on the floor is building but, hey, I'll get to them later. Really, I have two papers due in the next six hours. Priorities.

Week four, my room becomes what my brother likes to affectionately call "the abyss." The floor is nonexistent, papers and notes are everywhere, I lose one of every set of earrings somewhere so I wear mismatched pairs and try to look edgy. (Spoiler Alert: It doesn't work.) At this point, my mother never comes to my room and doesn't mention me when people ask about her kids.

It's an art form.

Now, nearing the end of what I can say honestly say has been the worst few months of my life, my room looks like it should be on an episode of "Hoarders."

No really, I'm concerned. Usually, my default state of lazy will allow me to go up to two weeks without seeing the floor before I do a very quick pick up so my mom doesn't have a heart attack when she sees my room. But I actually haven't seen my floor in months. My door remains permanently closed in an attempt not to incur my mother's wrath.

I have never seen my room in the state that it's in. And it makes sense. I have never felt so stressed for such a prolonged period of time. The room might be a reflection of how cluttered my mind feels, how anxious I am, but it's a vicious cycle. I see how crazy my room is and it stresses me out, the stress makes more of the mess accumulate, and repeat. My room has always been my safe haven, a place where I can relax and unwind but, now, I dread venturing into my room. Sometimes, I just ignore everything else and focus on the soft bed. It never lets me down.

The accumulated mess after months is a ritual. When the semester is finally over, I feel like I can breathe again. I clean my room and start fresh. I throw out all the trash, pick up all the papers, find all the lost syllabi.

I'm holding my breath for that moment.

(Disclaimer - None of these pictures are of my actual room. I've already brought my motherenough shame.)