I know how hoarding happens.

I've never seen an episode of Hoarders. I've seen photos on the internet, and have read a few blogs written by people who are trying to beat the hoarding thing. I have a fascination with it, but I'm not sure why. It's sort of exotic, thinking of all those things taking over a person's life, isn't it?

I've never judged, (can't... not with all the termites in my own attic... ha) but I've wondered how it happens. How it gets out of control and no one stops it. Why?

When I lived in John Day, there was a hoarder family just up the street from the Christian Church. Towers of newspaper, dishes, clothing... it was truly amazing. I once walked through her house, can't remember why, and felt like a tourist. There was a waxy, dirty, sweaty smell under it all, and fresh air felt pretty nice after leaving.

I consulted The Google, and found some bits and pieces of information about hoarding. Including different types of hoarding.
Did you know that some people hoard books?
Soda cans? 
Animals?

And hoarding is a type of OCD. Which, from what I understand, is caused by a chemical imbalance in a person's brain.
And I know my chemicals are a bit wacked out.
And that I didn't make it happen and that I can't control it on my own.

But this week, while looking at what's going on around me in my home, I realized I know how exactly how hoarding happens.
I have a pile here and a pile there. Stuff I am saving to take to work in the fall. Stuff that needs to be looked at and then shredded or filed. And there's nowhere to put it because the cupboards are full. The shelves are full. The house is bursting at the seams.

So things get piled along the edges of wherever... and then more ends up on top of it. Pretty soon, it's a precarious pile. And I keep meaning to get to it. But then I don't. And I grow another pile somewhere else. My bedroom is a prime place for stuff to get piled, because no one ever goes in there.

I have all the excuses in the world, of course. I've been laid up with one injury or another for more than two years. I haven't felt like doing a whole lot. And I work. And blah blah blah. And yes, my family pitches in to help, but there are many things that I have to go through myself. Also, I don't want them to do some of the stuff, I am afraid they might get rid of something important.

Today, I started tossing clothing. Lots and lots of it.

One interesting story out of approximately a hundred about clothing.

As a young teen, I had very little to wear. At a time in life where it was super important to me to fit in, to be like other people... I had two shirts and two pairs of jeans. Three pairs of underwear. Two bras.

There were some colossal arguments with my dad about clothing. This one is relatively mild.

My mom ordered me two dresses from the Sears sale catalog. Without consulting me. Without even mentioning it. The dresses arrived one day while I was at school, and I found them waiting for me on my bed when I came home.

WTF?? I didn't even WEAR dresses! Hadn't in years!

Please believe me when I say I would rather have gone to school with missing teeth, part of my ass hanging out, greasy hair... ANYTHING but wearing one of those ass-ugly plaid dresses. One was a peachy colored tiny plaid with little turquoise stripes and god-awful ruffles down the front. I was 15 years old for fuck's sake! The other one was brown plaid, in the same exact style. Both were too long, made from thin material that you could see through, and I was appalled when I saw them. Hung them in my closet with great shame.

And when school was about ready to start up in the fall, and I had NO new clothing... (usually never did... went to school in the same stuff all the time) and precious little old clothing, my mom said something to my dad about it. And he stomped angrily into my room and went through my closet. Took about 40 seconds. I really had nothing. And then he hit the fucking roof over those dresses. I was 'an ungrateful and selfish bitch' because I had not worn 'those perfectly good brand new dresses', and he'd 'be goddamned if he was going to waste more money on clothes.'

Those dresses had been on sale for $2.50.

There's a lot more to the story. And even now, a LONG time later, I really would prefer not to remember it. Just one little chapter in the ongoing saga, really.

So anyway. I shop at Goodwill almost exclusively now. And I have this incredible compulsion to buy clothing. Doesn't take much digging into my brain to figure out why, huh?

I probably have 10 pairs of jeans, but those all mostly look the same. I buy shirts. Every time I go in, I look at shirts. Until I started really cleaning out the closet and drawers today I had NO idea how bad it had gotten.

I made a decision to bag up everything that I don't love. If I haven't worn it in a long time (or ever... there were quite a few of those) it is going to Goodwill.

I dug in. Stopped counting at 100 shirts. No, that's not a typo. Ended up with five large garbage bags, straining valiantly at their little plastic seams. And now there's room in what passes for a closet. Room in a couple drawers. A LOT of extra hangers. And everything hanging there will either be worn within the next few months (since it's summer and there are some fall/winter things in the mix) or it will go OUT OUT OUT.

I'm tired of looking at the mess. Tired of walking around it. I know it will make me feel better. Now it's not horrible... we can get the house presentable for company after one morning of hard work from all four of us, but presentable and actually clean are not the same thing. And it's impossible to clean clutter.

I can see, if things are allowed to continue in the same direction, that I'll be one of the little old ladies wandering between stacks. One of those stories you hear on the news about how no one even knew she was dead for six months, then they had to tear down walls to get her out.

It was hard to write this post.