Thomas visited me at home yesterday to tour my house and get a sense of the nature of my problem with stuff. His comments were extremely unsettling but insightful. I am still trying to absorb what he said.
'Your house is full of distraction!'
He told me that he feels that my house reflects the state of my brain -- it is stuffed with many beautiful, interesting things that are all distractions. "You have a house full of distraction!"
And my brain just can't deal with all the distraction, all the "documents" -- bits of information -- that I am trying to stuff into it. I need to learn to limit the input, so that I can organize and manage the internal database that is my brain.
He said it was also obvious that even though I am intelligent and creative, I seem to have problems with organization -- a type of disability. "We all have areas of disability, and this seems to be yours."
I shared that I had noticed, in my work with programmers, many of them seem to be "marathoners" at logical, step-by-step thinking, while I, the technical writer, seem only capable of "sprints" of logic. "My brain hyperlinks from one topic to another, instead of following one topic to its conclusion," I agreed.
I had told him that my psychiatrist had felt that I didn't have Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) because I had always been a good student in school and was able to focus extremely well on some things -- working on the computer, playing my flute, writing, photography.
'Your house is a sheet of music with all the notes poured out on it as a jumble of ink'
Thomas pointed out that computers and music all have some inherent structure to them -- helping direct my brain on the proper path. "But your house has no structure, it is a jumbled mess of creativity. Your house is a sheet of music with all the notes poured out on it as a jumble of ink."
I had told him that I find it very difficult to decide where things should go in my house. And even when I make decisions, I often change my mind. He promised to help me learn how to impose structure on the house. One of the first challenges, he said, would be to create a space that would be completely empty of things and a space that could have things stored in a disordered way. He wants me to learn that some places are supposed to be EMPTY.
Creating 'empty' areas...
My initial thinking is that my hallways and stairways should be the empty areas. My friend Elaine had already pointed out that paramedics could not get a stretcher through my hallways or up my stairs if they needed to. I have been working to empty these areas, but these pathways are still serving as areas for temporary storage of things destined to move upstairs or downstairs.
Thomas asked me other questions about my things -- I can't remember just what he asked me -- and it came out in our discussion that both my father and my ex-husband had controlling personalities. My brother always tells folks that I had to move to Canada, 1,000 miles away away, as a young adult, to get out from under my dad's control. (My brother also experienced my dad's efforts at continuing control of us as we became adults.)
I never questioned that my dad loved me -- he just didn't know how to let go of me, to let me be the somewhat freer spirit that I wanted to be at times. I don't know that he wanted me to be a spinster, but he certainly mounted campaigns against the other men in my life. I was engaged three times as an adult before finally marrying without his approval at age 30.
My dad died 16 years ago from Alzheimer's Disease and other complications. He never liked my ex-husband, and we were still married when he died. In fact, we remained married for 25 years. I thought it was a happy marriage, but my ex-husband may remember it differently.
My dad was also a hoarder, so he influenced me in that way, too. Like him, I often followed my intellectual passions to the extreme, absorbed in my interests. We both loved books, nature, science, music and photography. We were both extroverts, people who never met a stranger. We were both perfectionists, always striving for perfection but, of course, never reaching it.
My dad's dad had been very controlling as well, and he had broken with him as an adult to pursue his own path. I never really broke with my dad, I just sought to keep some distance between us so that I could be the independent thinker that he had taught me to be -- not realizing that would mean that I might disagree with him at times.
My ex-husband was extremely logical and seldom acted on his emotions. He was an introverted, shy banker. My friend Liz, who knows us both, thinks I brought excitement, passion and creativity to his somewhat reclusive, dull life.
Ultimately, however, I drove him crazy. He couldn't control me as he would have liked. I wasn't predictable in ways he would have liked me to be predictable. He wasn't the violent sort, but he would often grumble under his breath at me as he walked away and engage in passive-aggressive acts of rebellion. My dad was more actively aggressive.
My ex-husband provided structure for my life...
From my point of view, my ex-husband provided some structure to my life that I was incapable of adding on my own. He forced me into a set sleeping and wake cycle, a set schedule of activity, and set expectations for food and other purchases.
After my parents died, I suddenly had money of my own to spend, and I exercised my freedom in ways that irritated my husband greatly: I brought a van of my parents' furniture home to Canada with me; I had repairs and upgrades made to our old house; I bought musical instruments, music, cameras, books, clothes and other things to feed my creative passions, etc. My ex-husband began complaining that there was no longer any room for him in the house.
Thomas agreed that my things reflect my rebellion against my father's and ex-husband's controls. After my ex-husband left me, I indulged my freedom from his control by spending even more on music and books. He had fueled my insecurity by telling me that I looked too old and dressed in a dowdy manner. I tried to pick better clothes and even dyed my hair for a while to try to fit his image of what I should be. (The other woman he left me for was 22 years younger, so I couldn't match her youth. She was an exotic of two foreign cultures, so I couldn't match her cultural uniqueness. And I was going through menopause, not the greatest time of life to be fighting for the survival of one's marriage.)
[There is more to be told from Thomas's visit, but I need a break.]
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