After years, most of my life, spent collecting things, acquiring stuff, getting great bargains and skip diving/picking up stuff others throw out.
Alongside having annual clear outs, fulling several huge bags every year, and donating to charity. Plus a couple times each year cleaning up where I can and throwing away bags and bags of rubbish & recycling.
Though it never made any difference. I carried on buying things I don’t really need while hyper and insomniac, people continue to give me their stuff that they don’t want any more and there is always something laying discarded on the street…. That I just have to investigate.
For many years I have been desperately trying to manage what I call my organised chaos. I asked for help, asking the wrong people. I tried asking the right people for help, I used the wrong words.
All the time my home got worse, becoming a prison of despair. social invites stopped as I became increasingly ashamed (there are other factors in play here too) and I, in the pit of depression, would often become overwhelmed and fantasise about setting fire to it and walking away. People rarely believed I was serious about that. I’m not sure I was either but I was serious about how badly the situation was affecting me.
It’s been not only an external representation of the inside of my mind, also a chain around my feet binding me to a lifetime of memories constantly tripping me up, holding me down, getting in the way of what I want to do and how I want to life MY life.
Just writing this down is an extremely emotional experience, triggering urges to ‘fix’ these feelings by buying something or eating even though I’m not hungry.
Worry not though as this story (hopefully) has a happy ending.
I finally asked the right people the right questions. Earlier this year I finally realised and accepted that this is, that I, am out of control. And that if I really wanted to fix this I had to seek out the right person. Which I did 🙂 so via my OT at the pain clinic, I got referred to a charity that specialises in this sort of thing.
This week they visited to do an assessment, before she had seen the whole flat I had been accepted. Shortly after I was declared as suffering with Hoarder Syndrome and given tasks to do before treatment begins.
It was a highly emotional day, bitter sweet in being recognised as in need of experienced help, whilst being Officially labelled as something I have known for most of my life but always told myself that I could handle it.
Emotionally I have been thrown back to the moment I realized that I had lost control of my crack addiction, that I was an addict and needed help. The helplessness of not being able to do it by myself, that I had to accept and admit a self perceived weakness at my inability to be independent. A heavy blow to the gut.
This new move and reach for help, this external recognition of my desperate need for guidance, this personal acceptance of all this.
I am a Hoarder and I need help