A little hoarder

I think, on average, people tend to be hoarders more than the opposite. Whether you are a hoarder depends on a definition of when the hoarding starts to be obstructive, impeding.

My hoarding is impeding. It’s been clear to me for a long time I need to do something about it. My belongings take up more space than what’s my home. I dumped a few things at my mother-in-law’s and I used to have a storage at my grandmother’s before my mother claimed that space and showed me the door. Now, most of that is in my basement.

I’ll skip the details for those of you who can relate. The ones who cannot – you probably don’t read this.

How am I coping?
By constant moving towards a better me. It’s a slow and backbreaking process, but I can already see good results.

It all started about ten years ago.
“Oh,” you say, “This is a long time to see results.”
Yes, it is. But I never said it would be fast or easy.

We (I mean my household) hired help. We got lucky to strike a deal with a lady whom we could trust. She comes once a week and helps us maintain hygiene. She’s fast and resourceful when dealing with or around my clutter. She has life experience and I try to learn as much as I can from her. Each week, after she leaves, our home is much pleasanter to live in. Less cluttered.
She doesn’t throw away but cleans, but she encourages me to throw away. We’ve done some decluttering sessions, and maybe we managed to throw half the things away. Mind, it took ten years. I’ve learned a lot.
I still need to learn a lot. How to part with the things I might need someday. How to throw away clothes that are just a little worn. How to dispose of waste I’m not sure which container they need to go to, or that which might be environmentally harmful. Tip, look the other way when she disposes of it. I’m not proud of this tip, but how else? Until I resolve some of my concerns, I need to dispose of waste somehow. Whatever helps.

My father is like me. If he didn’t have his wife (he’s remarried) he’d live in piles of papers as he did after the divorce from my mother. My mother is quite the opposite. She throws away without blinking an eye. If she isn’t sure, she throws. My sister is more like my mother. So there’s hope for me.

I learn from everyone who is successful at this living-clutter-free thing. I’m constantly picking clues. Constantly asking myself, “What would X do in my case, how would Y throw things away.” It helps somehow.

It’s a bit on the behaviouristic side of tackling the issue. But I need also to tackle it on the analytic side because I don’t have enough time or energy (or priority of the issue) to fix it.

The process is slow, and I’m sick of it. Sick of myself, sick of my inability to change. I believe in change, but there are the blue times when I despair and let the entropy win. And then again, I find some energy and fight again. Protect the borders.
I don’t have the energy for the offensive.

Currently, my strategy is leaving all the surfaces full and the stacks of papers and toys and stuff in general high so I can’t stack anything else up there. Sad, I know. My husband is sick of it too. He’s got a goal – to keep a kitchen table clean.

I’m depressed. Many fronts of desired changes open. I see no hope, but still get up each morning, do my job, the things I know, again and again. I’ve no energy to venture into the unknown. But there lies the solution. The change is the unknown. And I fear it.

What to do how to be the different me? You know?
I fear the future. I fear to live, I fear death, I fear and fear. And that’s why I don’t do anything to change. Because there’s security in being the old me.

I hate myself. Most of the time. I’m getting off topic.
It’s really interesting how I started writing this post in a more positive mood. Now that I’m in the depressive phase, I write nonsense (the last 5 paragraphs).

But I’m also sick of seeing unfinished posts here. This post was the only one with a picture already drawn so I picked it for publication. And at this point, I couldn’t care less if it’s finished or not. What was the point of writing it? What’s the use of it for the reader? I don’t know. I’m sorry.

I’m getting rid of this post. It’s no longer in the queue.

Bye bye.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s