Hoarders

So recently, I have become obsessed with the show, "Hoarders" on A&E.  I set my dvr to record all new episodes and over the Memorial Day weekend, they ran a marathon.  I realized that I was hoarding the Hoarders show.  Yipes.

There are hoarders in my family, but the reason I watched was because it was time for some self-examination and introspection.  Why did my heartbeat speed up at the sound of the intro music?  Why was I clenching my toes, which is a sure "tell" of my being uncomfortable.  Why was I snappy and pissy and ready to argue with Erik after I had watched an episode or two or three?

I'll be the first to admit it.  It's hard for me to let some things go.  I find I can associate with at least one characteristic per character per episode. I keep my dolls in a box in the garage with my grandpa's writing because the dolls represent me and who I was as a child.  My dolls used to keep me safe during the scary and too-dark nights.  I would line them around my body in a protective circle and breathe shallowly until finally falling asleep.  My treasured Raggedy Andy doll's face is tear-stained.  He absorbed a lot of sadness that I couldn't share with a live person.  The box has my treasured Grandpa Boyd's scrawled, "Dolls" on it, and I could see that he had a little of his tell-tale shakes when he wrote it.  Do these dolls do me any good out in our garage?  There are probably black widows nesting in the box.  The dust mites are having a feast on a daily basis, and yet, somehow, I feel comforted knowing that they are out there.  I think it is the only thing I have with his writing on it.  I know that by letting it go, he will not be erased from my heart, but I get an emotional charge every time I see it. 

So what about my box of prom dresses?  They are all out there too.  I will never wear them again (although I might think wistfully about being those tiny sizes).  I have never pulled them out to offer to a young girl to wear.  Last year at my High School, a teacher requested Prom dresses for students who couldn't afford them.  I didn't bring them in, didn't even go open the box.  In my mind, one day I would let little girls play dress-up in them.  Hmmmm.  Wonder when that'll happen?  My nieces are ages 4, 3 and 1.  Am I going to hold onto them until they are 8?  What condition will they be in?  Won't they stink like dust?  I'm sure I can't throw them in the washer!  Am I going to pay for them to be dry-cleaned so that they can be traipsed around in and the hems dirtied?  Not sure.  I do know that the dresses represent lots of memories of high school.  The anticipation of the event.  Getting ready all day for the moment when "the guy" showed up to give me a flower and whisk me off to a grand evening where I was too nervous to eat or talk to him.  Why do I still have the dress I wore when I asked my long-time (and one-sided) crush to the Sadie Hawkins dance?  He wasn't pleased to go with me, I was not his first choice.  I don't even know if we spoke the entire evening.  I had him on an impossible pedestal and there was no way I could be myself that night.  What about the gorgeous, pink dress I dreamed over, cut out pictures of and stuck on my wall?  I managed to get the dress and go with a really lovely guy.  It didn't work out between us, although I still think about him and a tiny part of my brain wonders . . . what if???  This is ego's way of not accepting the moment.  The NOW.  See?  I realize this.  That's the first part of recovery, right??? I have been married to a great guy for 19 years.  I think I have the dresses I wore when he accompanied me to dances.  The flapper dress, the red strapless.  Seriously, why do I still have these???  I have the pictures up on the wall!

I also "collect" letters (not uncommon) and birth and marriage announcements, every single scrap of paper my husband or son has put sentiment to, as well as every letter my dad wrote me.  I found some Birthday cards the other day, from most of my grandma's.  They are all dead now.  I smiled and gently caressed them, then put them back in the ripped, Manila envelope that is in file cabinet drawer that I must go through so that I can fit my desk in that space.  Sigh.  So, I get plastic containers and store them in the basement and then what?  When I'm 80 I pull out all the jumble of movie and concert tickets, newspaper articles that mention people I know and personalized invites for a niece's first bday party?  I always picture the afternoon of this grand event being a rainy one.  Then I sweep it all back into the boxes and store it until someone else has to get rid of it???!!!                               Hmmmm. . . Ok.  I can live with that.

Photos.  The space beneath our bed is filled with boxes of photos.  Last summer I bought some albums and started sorting them by year.  Spent a few hours doing it, but lost interest.  And what about the 7000 pictures that are stored on our computer since getting the digital camera about 7 years ago???  Averaging 1000 pictures a year is pretty hefty.  Again, my brain lives in the "perfect future" where I have arranged them and had photo books made online.  Really?  Am I going to do that?

Books.  I am an avid reader and work in a library and go to libraries all the time and books come my way.  I am on a self-improvement kick.  These books have flocked to me like a magnet to filings.  I have stacks and stacks of books.  Bookmarks stick out of a lot of them.  Titles come to my attention and I find them cheap online and order them.  Books that my kid needs to read.  Luckily, I don't have every book I have ever owned.  I got rid of ALOT when we moved from the mountains.  When we were first married and lived in San Bernardino, I remember sitting on the couch and had the door opened.  It was a funky little house, and two guys walked by.  One of them asked, "What's this place?" and the other glanced in and said, "Oh, it's a library."  I was proud.

My house is relatively clean, but I have no doubt that it is because I am blessed with a woman who cleans for me every other week.  She comes on Friday.  Starting Wednesday before her arrival, I start going through various paperwork piles in the kitchen, stuff on the back table, have Erik shove the clean clothes in baskets into the closet.  Then we start over.  What would this place look like if we weren't kept in check by cleaning for the cleaning lady???

My heart no longer races and I rarely cry when watching the show.  I have just finished (and ERASED) the last recorded episode.  I am even in a relatively good mood when it is over.  I don't think I picked a fight after watching yesterday.  But it is a guilty pleasure.  I like to watch alone.  With the door closed.  Then I look up and see the pile of stuff that's been sitting on top of the file cabinet for years.  Maybe I'll take a look at it before I go to Yoga tonite.  With the recycle bin close by. 

Thanks for listening. 
If you want to see the show, click on the link below. 

http://www.aetv.com/hoarders/video/?paidlink=1&vid=AETV_SEM_Search&keywords=hoarders&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=hoarders&utm_term=hoarders