Confessions of a Hoarder
Today my worst fears about myself were confirmed after months of denial. I am a Hoarder! I had never even heard of that word until 2010 when the mental condition of obsessing over useless crap we can't let go of was officially identified and given a clinical name on network TV. I went to jump up and throw away some things just to say I could do it. I grabbed a basket off the top of my china hutch. But then I paused. It is a sturdy, useful basket. Good for so many things. It has handles for crying out loud. That basket would be perfect for fruit or any number of items that need containing. So I moved it to my dining table where it sits even as I write this. I need help!!!
Undaunted by the basket, however, I went straight to my sock drawer. I have socks from the 80's! Those suckers just don't wear out when you are a semi-full-time couch potato! I seriously have pink socks, yellow socks, white knee-highs with a sparkle heart about mid-calf! I grew more disgusted with myself with each pair I counted. So I did throw 19 pairs out. Now I have 23 pairs left not including the dress socks (they are so thin - they hardly take up any room) and the fuzzy blue ones that say "I Love Jesus" on the side. I mean, wouldn't it be sacrilegious to throw those away? I'm not taking any chances on that.
According to the sooth-sayers on TV, it is not my fault. It is all because of cortisol. No wait, that is the cause of the belly fat that I have accumulated in recent years. This particular condition called Hoarding is (gasp) a mental illness. Never before have I been so happy to be labeled mentally ill. At least now I know I am not responsible for the 24 crystal plates with matching punch cups that have been taking up space in my cupboard without ever being used since smoking while eating tiny sandwiches, while sipping punch was considered fashionable – hence the cigarette holder on the crystal plate (I am not kidding!) Have I yet mentioned that I don't smoke, have never made punch, have a strong dislike for entertaining and have never even tasted one of those tiny sandwiches? Yet, I can't seem to let go of those cute little plates and cups! Classic Hoarder!
Unlike with most confessions, I don't really feel “cleansed” or like a weight has been lifted. I have worked pretty well at keeping up the denial. You see, you can walk through my house without knowing my dirty little secret. I am an organized hoarder. I have things labeled and stacked and packed and my house appears pretty clean. But, due to the sheer volume of useless items that I shelter and manage, it takes a lot of mental and physical energy just to keep up.
Now that the word it out there – Hoarder – I am on my way. I am even putting it online for all to see. Though I am the only one reading this right now, it makes me feel accountable. So, here I go. When I hit “post” it is my official commitment to a new, simplified, streamlined life. I will keep working on the whole getting-rid-of thing and report my progress next time. Maybe I will have a tearful picture taken of me saying good-bye to my mountain of useless crap.
