I am a hoarder. I didn't start out life that way. Oh, sure, I've been a packrat since my teens, but that was just my early days: I came by this naturally, having been born into a family of creative, educated, middle class people who passionately collected and saved -- my parents had survived the Great Depression, World War II and the economic boom times that followed.
When my father, the master packrat, died in 1997, my brother and I wonderingly sifted through the many treasures he had squirreled away. "You know," my brother said, "we think we are packrats, but we are really just packrats-in-training." Or so it then seemed.
Sixteen years later, I've graduated, summa cum laude, from Packrat U.
Of course, it helps that I've been through several life traumas in the meantime -- the deaths of my parents, a nephew and several other close relatives, the brutal, bitter end of a mostly good 25-year marriage, my daughter's leaving home for university and adult life, job losses, moves, broken friendships, and so on. With each loss, I've compulsively added things to my life to shore up the holes in my heart. Yeah, I know -- that doesn't make any sense. Mere "stuff" never makes up for human losses.
I've also lost a bit of my mind along the way through these losses -- the part of the brain that can make decisions about what to keep and what to pitch. I often feel overwhelmed by the multitude of decisions I face as a single, aging adult who lives alone.
It is difficult to ask for help. It means stating publicly that I have faults and am imperfect. Maybe I am lazy, sloppy, disorganized. Unfortunately, this is a problem that I have been unable to solve alone. I need help from professionals for the anxiety and depression that fuel this problem. I also need temporary physical help from friends in getting unstuck. (I am hoping to trade labour for help in getting out of neutral and into a higher gear. Are you assertive, organized and patient? Do you need computer coaching, flute lessons, photography services, pet sitting, baby sitting, or just a strong extra set of hands and legs, etc.? I'll trade labour, hour for hour. )
And most importantly, I need the love, forgiveness and support of my dear daughter, who is stuck with me as her mother till death us do part. (I hope that "parting" is a long, long time from now.) I am far from the perfect mom, but I'm all she's got -- and she's all I've got, except for a dear brother who struggles the same tendency to overcollect that I have. He has been through traumas, too.
Hoarding is a difficult illness to cure. Many hoarders are never able to change their deeply ingrained behaviours and beliefs. I am praying for a miracle: God, please reprogram -- brainwash me if necessary -- so that I no longer consume excessively and hold obsessively to things as symbols of my memories of things past.
One of the friends who is trying to help me get unstuck has suggested that I blog about my efforts -- to reinforce my learning and help me change my habits. She is investing her faith in my ability to change. And I deeply appreciate her willingness to give me a chance to show that I can change.
Can I change? I hope so. But I need to learn new ways of thinking and feeling about things and their acquisition. I need help. I am a smart woman, but I make a lot of decisions about buying and discarding with my gut instead of my head. I need reprogramming. It won't be easy.
