I know it's been said there might be a genetic component to hoarding. That at the very least, it does appear to run in some families. Whether it be a learned behavior, it's in the DNA, or it's a combination of the two, there is definitely hoarding in my family. But just because a person has a predisposition to alcoholism, drug addiction, hoarding or the like, it doesn't mean a person should just surrender and say, "There's nothing I can do about it, so I'm not going to fight the urge, and I'm just going to allow it to control me and use it as an excuse for everything that's wrong in my life." So I will continue to fight with every breath that is within me to get through this dehoarding process. I don't want to leave a mess for my husband and children to have to deal with and fight their way through when I am someday gone.
My grandmother was a hoarder. She was an antique dealer, and she owned gorgeous pieces over the years. But she also had a difficult time getting rid of useless things and often lumped some of her best pieces in boxes that also contained clothes, both dirty and clean, dirty dishes, newspapers, brand new towels, mail, jewelry and curlers as well as the occasional dried out piece of dog poop. Each box seemed more horrifying than the next, and we would literally just shake our heads in disbelief, as we'd try to make sense of her thought process as we filled trash bags and sorted through boxes of stuff.
Several of us, usually aunts, cousins, my mom and I would get together and go as fast as we could to clean as thoroughly as we could, so she could have people over for the holidays. We would spend several days cleaning, sorting, and purging as much as we could get through before her out of town company would show up for the holidays. We would do what we could to make her guests feel comfortable, but we were in it alone. She would sit in her chair with a cup of coffee often looking off into space, sometimes engaging some of us in conversation or answering the occasional question.
She would have bags upon bags of unopened things that she'd gotten for gifts for her kids, grandchildren or great grandchildren that sat waiting to be wrapped and sent off to her loved ones. There were scores of items she'd picked up at garage sales or thrift stores and lots of gift wrap that never seemed to be put away. There was just tons of stuff everywhere.
I wasn't there for any of the last holiday scrambles where we'd gather to clean, as we lived several states away, but I'll never forget what it was like. It was hard to catch your breath, because the air was always thick with the smell of rotting food, dog poop and urine, since the dogs had free reign of the house and frequently used the floor as their personal restroom. We'd occasionally find maggots and mold in the rotting food in the kitchen, and there were always moths of some sort in the canisters of flour or in the tins of cookies.
Needless to say, we didn't eat anything at her house unless we brought it or prepared it from fresh food we opened ourselves. We went through the cupboards each and every time and emptied out all the old food and the bulging cans. And we thoroughly washed and dried every canister in the house before replacing the flour, sugar and other baking goods. We cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer, bleached all of it out, so it was nice and clean, and then went shopping to get fresh groceries, so she'd have something to eat.
Once all the major cleaning was done, and we'd vacuumed as well as possible, we'd shampoo the carpet. At some point, someone talked her into getting a carpet cleaner. We'd scrub the carpet until the water came out as clear as possible. We'd use a commercial carpet shampoo like are used in restaurants to get some really heavy duty stains out, and it helped tremendously. I don't think we ever cleaned the carpet with fewer than 5 passes per section, and even though we would try to get to the point that the water that we were extracting from the carpet came out clear, a dull gray was as close as we ever got.
I know that toward the end, many of her issues stemmed from her age. She was over 100 years old when she died, and she lived alone well into her 90s. She'd had several mini strokes over the years, so it was harder for her to keep things up, and she probably should have been in a home years before she was. But the hoarding started decades before the incidents which I write about happened. Horrific and indescribably atrocious things happened to her when she was a little girl, and I'm sure much of her mental illnesses stemmed from those things. I don't feel at liberty to discuss them here, but I honestly don't know how anyone could be 'normal' after going through what she endured.
I have no doubt that my grandmother's house would look like those on the hoarding shows, if we didn't intervene on occasion. It still took no time at all for things to pile back up and for the carpet to need to be scrubbed again. I'm in no way condoning the way she kept house, but knowing some of the things that happened to her as a child I can understand where the mental illness began and that this was her way of somehow trying to maintain control over her life. It was a coping mechanism that failed her.
I'm hoping that by recognizing the tendencies I have to hoard, like my grandmother did, and consciously choosing to address those tendencies on a daily basis, that I'll never fall into the trap that so tightly ensnared my grandmother.
Showing posts with label explanation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label explanation. Show all posts
Friday, October 29, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
.....and.....exhale....
Am I the only one, or does anyone else find themselves exhausted from a trip to the doctor/dentist's office and a day away from home?
Things went better this morning than we anticipated. When we got up to get ready for the dental appointment, I gave Hopper a second dose of Theanine. I'm glad I did. Hopper did start ramping up for a meltdown, but it didn't have time to materialize before the Theanine kicked in. She was downright jovial on the way to the dental clinic. We were really hoping it would last, but we've seen her in similar positions in the past, and it hasn't lasted, so we weren't sure what to expect.
Knowing that the clinic only allows one parent at a time back with the child, we asked Hopper who she wanted to go in with her. She thought about it for a moment and said, "Daddy." We knew there was a good chance she'd change her mind, but we wanted her to have some control over the situation to help ease her anxiety.
Once we got to the clinic we were a bit concerned. The waiting room was absolutely packed. One of the hardest things for Hopper is waiting. It gives her anxiety a chance to build to monumental proportions. So we were absolutely thrilled and relieved when they called her back before I had finished filling out her paperwork. Hopper was finished rather quickly, and we were back in the car and on the way home within 30 minutes.
All they were able to accomplish was to look in her mouth and see that the crown had indeed broken. The gal apparently thought she was going to get a chance to clean Hopper's teeth, but that didn't happen. Then again, we knew it wouldn't. Theanine works wonders, but it falls a bit short of working miracles. She goes in for surgery Tuesday when they'll take x-rays, do a deep cleaning of her teeth, and take care of any cavities and the crown. We're hoping that they'll be able to just replace the crown and that they won't have to pull a tooth. She's already missing one of her molars that broke down into the root, so we're really hoping this didn't break that far down. We'll find out soon enough.
When we were done, we took the girls shopping for a little while. We have always tried to end days like this on a high note, so the day isn't all about a negative like going to the dentist or going to the doctor. When I was pregnant with Scooter, and we had to see specialists that were 200 miles from Camp Lejeune in Norfolk, VA Bugster was 5 and was old enough to be scared over the fact that Hopper was supposed to have heart surgery. It was too much for her little shoulders to carry.
So each trip to VA, we'd go to the Lynnhaven Mall. It had a giant carousel that we let the girls ride it each time we were there for appointments. We'd play the 'claw' game in the mall's arcade and actually got pretty good at it. The girls came home with a new stuffed animal after every trip. (I think we finally got rid of the last ones when the girls' room was cleaned out several months ago).
The visits to the specialists in Norfolk always took a few days, because we saw more than one each time, so we would stay at a little motel right on the beach in the outskirts of Norfolk. I can't remember the name of the bay it overlooked. I just remember it was a little one and not Chesapeake. Of course we'd look for seashells, (I have 3 or 4 shoe boxes of shells and sand in the garage somewhere that we collected on these many trips), we'd have tea parties on the beach, and we'd get our feet wet in the waves. We'd bring our table top grill and grill burgers and hot dogs to make it more special. We even went as far as bringing the electric ice cream maker and made ice cream one time. We wanted to make it as fun as possible.
Because if we were scared as adults, we couldn't imagine how scary it was for the girls.
Life needs to be about more than visits to doctors and dentists and what's wrong and being scared.
It needs to be about what's right in the world.
It needs to be about family and fun and those you hold dear.
And sometimes, hoarding isn't about placing humongous amounts of value on things that have no value at all, but it's about the memories associated with those things having so much attached to them that you're afraid to let them go lest you forget those moments that were wonderful. Because if you forget those wonderful moments, all that's left is the terror of knowing your child is sick and needs heart surgery or the nightmares of bringing your baby home in a body bag, because she's really that sick, and the judgment you see in others' eyes, because your child looks typical but acts very nontypically and the people assume you're not a good parent when you're doing the very best you can to hang on, but you can't keep up with all the doctors' visits and breathing treatments, and diapers they used until they were 8 and 10 years old, add the ADHD and anxiety to that, and the therapies, and the laundry, because your youngest can't eat solids and throws up every bottle she drinks until she's almost 4, and they find that she's missing the sphincter at the top of her esophagus and goes through 12 changes of bedding on her crib on a good day and at least 20 on a bad day.
Sometimes, hoarders are great parents who are so overwhelmed by the lack of control they feel in their own lives that they're afraid something bad will happen, if they get rid of stuff. Because somehow hanging onto physical things that spark the good memories has worked for them. When they see the toys from the claw games in the different rooms of the house, it comforts them. It reminds them that they tried just as hard as they could to make the very best of horrible, impossible situations.
The things are a reminder that they've mattered in their kids' lives.
Things went better this morning than we anticipated. When we got up to get ready for the dental appointment, I gave Hopper a second dose of Theanine. I'm glad I did. Hopper did start ramping up for a meltdown, but it didn't have time to materialize before the Theanine kicked in. She was downright jovial on the way to the dental clinic. We were really hoping it would last, but we've seen her in similar positions in the past, and it hasn't lasted, so we weren't sure what to expect.
Knowing that the clinic only allows one parent at a time back with the child, we asked Hopper who she wanted to go in with her. She thought about it for a moment and said, "Daddy." We knew there was a good chance she'd change her mind, but we wanted her to have some control over the situation to help ease her anxiety.
Once we got to the clinic we were a bit concerned. The waiting room was absolutely packed. One of the hardest things for Hopper is waiting. It gives her anxiety a chance to build to monumental proportions. So we were absolutely thrilled and relieved when they called her back before I had finished filling out her paperwork. Hopper was finished rather quickly, and we were back in the car and on the way home within 30 minutes.
All they were able to accomplish was to look in her mouth and see that the crown had indeed broken. The gal apparently thought she was going to get a chance to clean Hopper's teeth, but that didn't happen. Then again, we knew it wouldn't. Theanine works wonders, but it falls a bit short of working miracles. She goes in for surgery Tuesday when they'll take x-rays, do a deep cleaning of her teeth, and take care of any cavities and the crown. We're hoping that they'll be able to just replace the crown and that they won't have to pull a tooth. She's already missing one of her molars that broke down into the root, so we're really hoping this didn't break that far down. We'll find out soon enough.
When we were done, we took the girls shopping for a little while. We have always tried to end days like this on a high note, so the day isn't all about a negative like going to the dentist or going to the doctor. When I was pregnant with Scooter, and we had to see specialists that were 200 miles from Camp Lejeune in Norfolk, VA Bugster was 5 and was old enough to be scared over the fact that Hopper was supposed to have heart surgery. It was too much for her little shoulders to carry.
So each trip to VA, we'd go to the Lynnhaven Mall. It had a giant carousel that we let the girls ride it each time we were there for appointments. We'd play the 'claw' game in the mall's arcade and actually got pretty good at it. The girls came home with a new stuffed animal after every trip. (I think we finally got rid of the last ones when the girls' room was cleaned out several months ago).
The visits to the specialists in Norfolk always took a few days, because we saw more than one each time, so we would stay at a little motel right on the beach in the outskirts of Norfolk. I can't remember the name of the bay it overlooked. I just remember it was a little one and not Chesapeake. Of course we'd look for seashells, (I have 3 or 4 shoe boxes of shells and sand in the garage somewhere that we collected on these many trips), we'd have tea parties on the beach, and we'd get our feet wet in the waves. We'd bring our table top grill and grill burgers and hot dogs to make it more special. We even went as far as bringing the electric ice cream maker and made ice cream one time. We wanted to make it as fun as possible.
Because if we were scared as adults, we couldn't imagine how scary it was for the girls.
Life needs to be about more than visits to doctors and dentists and what's wrong and being scared.
It needs to be about what's right in the world.
It needs to be about family and fun and those you hold dear.
And sometimes, hoarding isn't about placing humongous amounts of value on things that have no value at all, but it's about the memories associated with those things having so much attached to them that you're afraid to let them go lest you forget those moments that were wonderful. Because if you forget those wonderful moments, all that's left is the terror of knowing your child is sick and needs heart surgery or the nightmares of bringing your baby home in a body bag, because she's really that sick, and the judgment you see in others' eyes, because your child looks typical but acts very nontypically and the people assume you're not a good parent when you're doing the very best you can to hang on, but you can't keep up with all the doctors' visits and breathing treatments, and diapers they used until they were 8 and 10 years old, add the ADHD and anxiety to that, and the therapies, and the laundry, because your youngest can't eat solids and throws up every bottle she drinks until she's almost 4, and they find that she's missing the sphincter at the top of her esophagus and goes through 12 changes of bedding on her crib on a good day and at least 20 on a bad day.
Sometimes, hoarders are great parents who are so overwhelmed by the lack of control they feel in their own lives that they're afraid something bad will happen, if they get rid of stuff. Because somehow hanging onto physical things that spark the good memories has worked for them. When they see the toys from the claw games in the different rooms of the house, it comforts them. It reminds them that they tried just as hard as they could to make the very best of horrible, impossible situations.
The things are a reminder that they've mattered in their kids' lives.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Poor me.
I didn't start this post out as a 'poor me' post, but it appears to have morphed into one. Sorry about that...
I'm so discouraged.
My back has been killing me the last few days once again. It's nearly impossible for me to accomplish much of anything when it's hurting like this. Twenty six years ago, I ruptured a disc in my lower back. I've struggled with pain from it ever since. Then three years ago when my dad died, I ruptured the one right below it. I also managed to move one of my vertebrae forward three to four millimeters at the time of the second injury. The only toe I've felt on my left foot in the last three years is my big toe. The other four are numb due to pinched nerves.
I have gotten several cortisone shots in my lower back to numb the pain for awhile, and while it works for a time it's not ideal. I don't like the fact that the shots lower my immunity. It's the last thing I need during the winter months when I'm already apt to catch everything the girls bring home from school and hubby brings home from work. I purposely didn't get any cortisone shots last year, because we were so sick the way it was. There just wasn't any use it making things worse. So it's been almost two years since I've had one. I would really love the relief, but I'm not willing at this point to put my health in jeopardy to get one.
However, if things don't change, I may have to give in. The way it is, I'm taking medicine daily for the pain. I fluctuate between three different pain medicines and a muscle relaxer, so I don't get addicted to any one medicine, but often times the meds knock me on my behind. I don't like taking medicines that mess with my head when the girls are home unless The Hubster is available to take over. I feel like I need to be 100% available, should they need me. As it turns out, the most effective pain meds for my back are the ones that knock me out, so I'm in pain most of the time.
It's discouraging on so many levels, because when I'm in pain, the dehoarding pretty much comes to a full halt. I feel like I've accomplished something on high pain days, if I get a shower in and am able to feed the girls and do the dishes. Lately, I haven't been able to do any dehoarding or working on paint projects or anything, although the painting came to a halt because of my asthma and the weather.
It's supposed to be much warmer tomorrow than it's been over the last few days, and my breathing is much better, so I'm hoping to finish up the painting projects tomorrow or at least work on them. I can sit down to work on it, so I can give my back a bit of a break. I'd just love to get it finished up.
It would at least help me feel like I'd accomplished something.
I'm so discouraged.
My back has been killing me the last few days once again. It's nearly impossible for me to accomplish much of anything when it's hurting like this. Twenty six years ago, I ruptured a disc in my lower back. I've struggled with pain from it ever since. Then three years ago when my dad died, I ruptured the one right below it. I also managed to move one of my vertebrae forward three to four millimeters at the time of the second injury. The only toe I've felt on my left foot in the last three years is my big toe. The other four are numb due to pinched nerves.
I have gotten several cortisone shots in my lower back to numb the pain for awhile, and while it works for a time it's not ideal. I don't like the fact that the shots lower my immunity. It's the last thing I need during the winter months when I'm already apt to catch everything the girls bring home from school and hubby brings home from work. I purposely didn't get any cortisone shots last year, because we were so sick the way it was. There just wasn't any use it making things worse. So it's been almost two years since I've had one. I would really love the relief, but I'm not willing at this point to put my health in jeopardy to get one.
However, if things don't change, I may have to give in. The way it is, I'm taking medicine daily for the pain. I fluctuate between three different pain medicines and a muscle relaxer, so I don't get addicted to any one medicine, but often times the meds knock me on my behind. I don't like taking medicines that mess with my head when the girls are home unless The Hubster is available to take over. I feel like I need to be 100% available, should they need me. As it turns out, the most effective pain meds for my back are the ones that knock me out, so I'm in pain most of the time.
It's discouraging on so many levels, because when I'm in pain, the dehoarding pretty much comes to a full halt. I feel like I've accomplished something on high pain days, if I get a shower in and am able to feed the girls and do the dishes. Lately, I haven't been able to do any dehoarding or working on paint projects or anything, although the painting came to a halt because of my asthma and the weather.
It's supposed to be much warmer tomorrow than it's been over the last few days, and my breathing is much better, so I'm hoping to finish up the painting projects tomorrow or at least work on them. I can sit down to work on it, so I can give my back a bit of a break. I'd just love to get it finished up.
It would at least help me feel like I'd accomplished something.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Which came first? The chicken or the egg?
Mom said that when I was a kid I was fastidious at keeping my room clean. Everything had a place, and everything was where it should be. I was a neat freak. I would apparently get very frustrated with my sister who was more lax in her efforts to keep the room clean. Now, however, it would appear as though my sister and I have changed places. She is the neat freak, and I am...well...not.
What's funny is that I remember having problems with keeping things well before I even made it into my teens. One of my brothers had won a 6ft long stuffed snake at the fair for me. Actually, we had two of these snakes. He gave one to me and one to my sister. Mine had yellow and light green spots on it, so of course it was the one he picked out for me given my affinity for yellow. I remember having a love/hate relationship with it. I loved the fact that my brother had thought of me when he won it, but I never really knew what to do with the thing.
I believe I hung it from the ceiling at one point, because it didn't take up as much room up there as it did on my bed. I'd try to get creative with it and coil it up, but the thing was so stiff it didn't coil. . And it was so full of stuffing that it didn't even bend in half unless forced. When I finally got a toy net, it hung along the back of the toy net so it's head hung out the one side with it's tongue sticking out, and that was as close as I ever came to having a permanent place for it. As a toy the snake was rather useless. I couldn't cuddle with it, because it smelled dusty. It always made me want to cough, which I'm sure is because of the asthma I've had my entire life. We'd hang it outside on the clothesline to try to air it out, but even that didn't help much. It didn't really work as a weapon, although it may have, if Mom hadn't put an end to our attempts at battery. It was simply a thing to display.
The thing is...I think I may still have it. I think it's out in the storage pod in a box of things I didn't know what to do with that I packed up several years ago. If it is in a box, it's because after 30 years it is finally creased in places it was never meant to bend. If it's not there, then I may have finally donated it after agonizing over what to do with it one too many times over the years. I do know that I hung onto it for far too long, because I didn't know how to give it up. I didn't know how to let it go, because it symbolized the love my brother has for me.
I still have the Orange Blossom perfume another of my brothers bought me when he went to Ft Lauderdale, FL for Spring Break one year. I was probably about 8. It doesn't take up very much room. The bottle is only about an inch high and 3/4" wide. I kept the seashell it was wrapped in for years and years. I have no idea what happened to it, but I apparently parted with it somewhere along the way. The last I remember seeing the shell was before we moved into this house 9 years ago. This summer I finally parted with the long sleeved Ft Lauderdale t-shirt he got me the following summer, but it was really, really hard.
I guess my point in all this is that I've had hoarding tendencies all my life.
Even when I was a neat freak, I had trouble letting go.
What's funny is that I remember having problems with keeping things well before I even made it into my teens. One of my brothers had won a 6ft long stuffed snake at the fair for me. Actually, we had two of these snakes. He gave one to me and one to my sister. Mine had yellow and light green spots on it, so of course it was the one he picked out for me given my affinity for yellow. I remember having a love/hate relationship with it. I loved the fact that my brother had thought of me when he won it, but I never really knew what to do with the thing.
I believe I hung it from the ceiling at one point, because it didn't take up as much room up there as it did on my bed. I'd try to get creative with it and coil it up, but the thing was so stiff it didn't coil. . And it was so full of stuffing that it didn't even bend in half unless forced. When I finally got a toy net, it hung along the back of the toy net so it's head hung out the one side with it's tongue sticking out, and that was as close as I ever came to having a permanent place for it. As a toy the snake was rather useless. I couldn't cuddle with it, because it smelled dusty. It always made me want to cough, which I'm sure is because of the asthma I've had my entire life. We'd hang it outside on the clothesline to try to air it out, but even that didn't help much. It didn't really work as a weapon, although it may have, if Mom hadn't put an end to our attempts at battery. It was simply a thing to display.
The thing is...I think I may still have it. I think it's out in the storage pod in a box of things I didn't know what to do with that I packed up several years ago. If it is in a box, it's because after 30 years it is finally creased in places it was never meant to bend. If it's not there, then I may have finally donated it after agonizing over what to do with it one too many times over the years. I do know that I hung onto it for far too long, because I didn't know how to give it up. I didn't know how to let it go, because it symbolized the love my brother has for me.
I still have the Orange Blossom perfume another of my brothers bought me when he went to Ft Lauderdale, FL for Spring Break one year. I was probably about 8. It doesn't take up very much room. The bottle is only about an inch high and 3/4" wide. I kept the seashell it was wrapped in for years and years. I have no idea what happened to it, but I apparently parted with it somewhere along the way. The last I remember seeing the shell was before we moved into this house 9 years ago. This summer I finally parted with the long sleeved Ft Lauderdale t-shirt he got me the following summer, but it was really, really hard.
I guess my point in all this is that I've had hoarding tendencies all my life.
Even when I was a neat freak, I had trouble letting go.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The spririt's willing, but the flesh is weak.
Yesterday, after I scrubbed the shower out and washed the shower liner, I hung the clean liner up with a shower curtain we've had for years. I was hoping that by having a shower curtain on the outside of the shower, that the liner would stay inside the 4" shower pan. In theory, I think it would work, but we've had this !00% cotton shower curtain for so long, that it's shrunk probably at least 7". It came nowhere close to the length of the liner, so we'll have to pick up something for that bathroom.
Unfortunately, between hanging the shower liner and curtain up again and doing several loads of laundry, I can hardly move today. My neck and shoulders are screaming. I had to take a muscle relaxant earlier to try to get them to calm down. I'll be taking another one soon, since the ibuprofen did nothing to dull the throbbing. I'm hoping that I'll be in tip top shape tomorrow or at least well enough I can do something.
I try hard not to complain about being in constant pain, but sometimes I find it very difficult. I work through it most days, but when it's like today, I simply can't. It can be quite frustrating. Especially because I really want to make progress with the dehoarding more quickly than I am currently. Also, I know that complaining just sounds like I'm making excuses for not getting things done. I am trying really hard not to use it as an excuse but rather as an explanation.
Besides. I really, really, really want to get the house totally dehoarded, so we can get some sort of a hot tub or an infrared sauna. Something to help relax these silly muscles!
In your mind, is there a difference between an explanation and an excuse in a situation like this? If so, what do you see as the difference?
Unfortunately, between hanging the shower liner and curtain up again and doing several loads of laundry, I can hardly move today. My neck and shoulders are screaming. I had to take a muscle relaxant earlier to try to get them to calm down. I'll be taking another one soon, since the ibuprofen did nothing to dull the throbbing. I'm hoping that I'll be in tip top shape tomorrow or at least well enough I can do something.
I try hard not to complain about being in constant pain, but sometimes I find it very difficult. I work through it most days, but when it's like today, I simply can't. It can be quite frustrating. Especially because I really want to make progress with the dehoarding more quickly than I am currently. Also, I know that complaining just sounds like I'm making excuses for not getting things done. I am trying really hard not to use it as an excuse but rather as an explanation.
Besides. I really, really, really want to get the house totally dehoarded, so we can get some sort of a hot tub or an infrared sauna. Something to help relax these silly muscles!
In your mind, is there a difference between an explanation and an excuse in a situation like this? If so, what do you see as the difference?
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