Hoarding Potential
I am addicted to hoarding shows like Hoarders on A&E and Hoarding: Buried Alive on TLC. I am simultaneously horrified and and riveted. I can’t look away despite gagging from shock.
I wish I didn’t relate to some of them so much. I always thought it was just that I was a lazy slob and I never suspected there could be another reason, except that I’m a terrible person.
I don’t have mice or roaches or dead cats, but I am a slob. I take care of my Mom and as long as she’s ok, I don’t really care about myself. I try and keep my hoard confined to my room, but it does spill down the stairs.
The one thing all the hoarders share, on some level, is trauma. I never really thought I had trauma until I heard some of these hoarders recount their trauma and I was like, is that it?
I know people have it infinitely worse than me, but here my Pity Party guest list.
My sister, who I hadn’t talked to for 9 years, died of cancer. I didn’t even know she was sick until 1 day before she died.
My relationship fell apart and I moved back to Pittsburgh from NYC to help care for Dad who was dying of Cancer. I watched my Dad die.
I quit my job at the University Health Book Center because I thought I would get a book written. I didn’t.
A high school friend I got reacquainted with on FB told me he was struggling telling his friends about his sexuality. I didn’t hear anything from him for a few months. I found out he killed himself.
My boss at Cue Magazine died suddenly of meningitis and the magazine fell apart.
My beloved dog, Logan, died after a long bout with cancer and debilitating arthritis.
My Mom needed 2 hip replacements and her gallbladder removed which took a few years for her to agree to even get done, and then a few more years to recuperate.
My depression spiraled out of control.
Just to name a few.
So it’s very easy to hide up in my room and check-out. I not only have piles of my own stuff, but I still have tons of my late Dad’s stuff. As long as I have a pathway, I’m good. I don’t have anybody over unless I can entertain downstairs where it’s neat and clean.
But, I’m not just a potential hoarder, I am a hoarder of potential.
My Mom always told me I had such potential.
I am surrounded by potential projects, aspirations, and wtiting projects. Someday I hope to use them, but time is running out.
It’s now or never.
