Hoarding

Recently, the curtains have been pulled back and have revealed an illness called "hoarding" which is, apparently, growing in alarming numbers. I have been watching several documentaries about this disease, which seems to affect people who can often pose as functional, normal, even brilliant individuals. They just can't seem to find a way to throw out the junk they've accumulated in their homes.

It made me pretty scared, if truth be told, to watch the trauma these people go through in the process of letting go. I realize that maybe I have leanings in that direction myself, as there are pockets in my home of accumulated "stuff" that sits unattended, day in and day out. I seem to possess either an ambivalence about it or even a foreboding fear of approaching these piles. Do I simply "not care" or it is that somewhere in the stacks there are things I will uncover which are too painful to find? Am I too paralyzed in my fear of it that I just can't even sort it out? Oh oh. I think I just looked in the mirror.

Three places in my home are my potential danger zones: The Garage, The Office and The Closet. I might be onto something here which could nip this in the bud. There's got to be a reason I let these places accumulate the hodge-podge of chaos they have become. There are times I will grab a trash bag and tackle one small space, throwing things out left and right... and then it stops for another run of weeks ...

The Garage is the worst of all the collections. There, I have boxes of old collectables of my own, from my old, unfortunate teapot and "country" rooster phase, sporting goods from sports which we will never engage in again (really? will I ski or roller blade again???), and the worst, the things from my parent's home which we just could not decide what to do with at the time they each passed away. And here they sit. The hardest throwaway for me? Pictures they have framed of our family and odd mismatched items that evoke such strong memories but hold not current useful purpose any longer in my life ... I'm also thinking the IRS probably doesn't need my dad's 1988 tax returns either, but I guess at the time, I thought there was danger in throwing it out? Worse even, the mere thought of discarding any item with my mother's handwriting, for fear I would lose the memory of her beautiful looping letters, now that they have stopped production.

I already know what the problem is in The Office and The Closet. Denial. Plain and simple. I'm not going to be size 4 in this lifetime and the reminders of that have got to go. If I ever do stumble on a trimmer physique, which is the plan, mind you, I will have earned my trip to find new things to fit myself and this old stuff should not be my incentive. For that matter, I hope to also not be a 2X again, so really, all I need is a couple of teenagers to help me load those bags into my trunk and get it off to Goodwill. It's time.

My ultimate goal this year is to streamline and simplify. Peering into the windows of the lives of people with this hoarding sickness has made me assess that any large scale changes I want to make are still sitting atop the daily, physical reminder that I can't start fresh unless I purge the old and superfluous items which are getting in the way. It is not impossible and there is help available when I am ready to ask for it.

Trash bags in hand, I am heading for the garage... determined to clear the pathways in my home and in my head.