All Messed Up

I am an organized person. I am detail-oriented, orderly, efficient. Very, very organized. Except in one area. And that would be "my room."
I have piles of clothes on the floor. Shoes kicked off in different directions. Undies hanging out of drawers. Stacks of clothes piled high on the dresser. Jewelry that has been knocked off flat surfaces that's now just lost on the floor. Instead of hanging clothes on hangers in my closet, I will lay them across the top of the rack making it impossible to see the clothes underneath. Stacks of old journals and poems and magazines are piled in every corner.
Because of my unbelievable messiness, Tim and I actually switched bedrooms. We now have our regular bedroom where we sleep, and then I have "my room." It's basically just a room where my explosion of crap lives. This move was intially so I could have a "dressing room", a lovely girly getaway designed to give me some of my own space. Instead it has become a sort of a breeding ground for disaster.
This is not a new habit. Nope. Anyone that has ever lived with me can vouch for my (truly) dirty little secret. And no matter how hard I try to keep my room clean, I alway revert back to my old ways.
But why?
How can I be so organized in all other areas of my life? Organized to the point of anal even, but I can accept, nay encourage, this shitstorm of a room in my house? Is it because I can view my room as the one place where I don't have to have it all together? In fact, it IS my little girly getaway? Or is it because I can just shut the door and pretend the mess doesn't exist? Or am I just plain lazy?

D. All of the above.