This Time It's Personal

Right around the time I was leaving my OCPD ex, and voraciously reading everything I could on OCPD and hoarding, I came upon an interesting website called My Mother In Law Is Still Sitting Between Us. In it the author chronicled her boyfriend's efforts to clean out the hoarding house of his mother, who'd recently passed away.

Besides the train-wreck fascination of the pictures, the writing! Snappy, funny, insightful, and never mean-spirited or nasty. I fell in serious girl crush. And after finding that the author lived next door, so to speak, I got in touch with her. Once I convinced Sid I was not a crazy stalker-person, we did meet, and became good friends. I lured her into joining my writers critique group. Her voice and ideas were good for our group, and getting out of the house and talking about writing was good for her.  I frequently commented on her blog, and she was a frequent commenter here.

Her boyfriend is also OCPD, and the unhappy relationship dynamics that so many experience, that *I* experienced, were also part of her experience. He was a drinker/she was a drinker, even after it began to create serious health problems for her. She cut back.

Still, the relationship was eating her up on the inside, especially when, over two years into the clean-up process of the hoarding house, there was no end in sight. And of course, he could neither give it up nor hire someone to help. I tried to support Sid, as best I could, without pushing or telling her what to do.

It frustrated me to watch her spirit get eroded over time, drip, drip, drip, but still, it wasn't MY job to save her. She did have a supportive family. And Sid was the stubborn kind of person who needed to do things in her own way, in her own time. So mostly, I was the listening ear who understood, and who told her what a great person she was.

One of my online friends has pointed many to an excellent book called, "When the Body Says No," about the damaging health effects that accumulated stress may have on a person. See, sometimes if WE don't learn to say no, the body says it for us, by getting sick.  Or we swallow our feelings with alcohol, drugs, food, sex, shopping...

Sid was the kind of caregiving person who poured herself out for others.  She took pride in being STRONG, not asking for help, but giving it to others. She blogged and worked part time and was active in Children of Hoarders. She co-founded a local group called SoCalLady Bloggers. On October 8 she appeared as part of this streaming video chat on hoarding on Huffington Post.



Her ex was not and is not a bad person. In his own way, Greg, too, is heartbroken. He was the reason she was found, still clinging to life, after she missed a scheduled meeting with him and he would not let it go. I am very grateful that her parents and I got to say goodbye to her when she was still technically breathing, rather than after lying dead in her apartment for days. But his own overwhelming anxieties did not allow him to SEE how sick she was, or to help her in any meaningful way.  As she described here when she was going to visit her parents, very sick, and he got hung up on the cheapest train fare.

After another hospitalization this summer following that train trip, during which the b-f was anxious, bossy, "knew" more about what she needed to do than the doctors, and demanded attention and energy she simply didn't have left in her to give him, she realized that though she still loved him deeply, if she stayed with him, it would literally kill her. She'd already been making emotional plans to leave; her parents helped her out financially, and she moved into her own place a month ago.

Sid was SO happy in her new place. She could eat, walk, work on the computer, and breathe, without being criticized. She was so proud, showing off her new place - which had been IMMEDIATELY unpacked, no boxes hanging around for her! She showed me her cool rooftop patio and talked about having a party up there, excited, because her ex never wanted to have people over. She still loved him, and they were friendly, trying to work out the sale of their house amicably. She was taking her meds and NOT drinking and working hard to regain the weight she'd lost during the summer, but she was still so frail...

The damage to her body was too great, her remaining physical resources too low. She had a heart attack just a week ago due to the chemical imbalance in her body, and then another, in the hospital. No alcohol found in her system.

Last Monday I sat with her parents and her ex, in the hospital. Both before and after they turned off the respirator.  Today is her "Celebration of Life."

She was beautiful and vibrant and funny and 43 years old.

I am angry and heartbroken. This did NOT have to happen. For all of you still with a disordered partner - I am not telling or urging you to leave.  Only you can make that call, if or when it is right for you. But please, please, PLEASE, do not pour yourself out entirely for your partner and other people, until there is not enough left for your own body or soul. It may be the hardest thing you will ever have to do, but learn to put yourself FIRST.

A-Z: Xcess - That Invisible Dividing Line from Quirky to Crazy

How do we tell when somebody has crossed the line from quirky to crazy? That's part of the problem, because many symptoms of mental illness actually look quite admirable - in smaller doses.

The key is Xcess and Xtreme. (Getting a bit creative with the spelling here, so what.) Take someone who is bipolar. During a more low key manic cycle, she may be animated, creative, fun to be around. Then perhaps a little down and sad. During an extreme cycle, she may want the entire family to join her in painting the kitchen - at 2:00 a.m. Or be unable to drag herself out of bed for days at a time.

Cleanliness, admirable. Sterilizing kitchens and bathrooms like a hazmat team, not so much.

Being an ardent recycler and repurposer, great. Having an endless collection of boxes, pen lids, and food containers... hoarder.

From  My Mother In law is Still Siting Between Us... Randomness (7/29/10). All pictures used by permission.

Pen lids

Hundreds and hundreds of crosswords, cut out, dated (aren't they already?), and meticulously labeled. She had a note on each, about whether or not she had checked the answers, and a list of the numbers (6 across, 17 down) which she hadn't yet checked. Some of these date back to '89.

Crossword puzzles

 

Empty See's candy boxes - apparently, one can never have too many.

Burned out light bulbs, with notes as to the date each burned out, and the fixture.

What's so bad about keeping some useless junk? Nothing, if it stops at a small stash of empty boxes or burned out light bulbs.  But too often, it crosses the line to this:

The Kitchen

Inside the fridge

Yeah. Horrifying, isn't it? The tragic thing, for adult children of hoarders, is that even when their parents "maintain" a home in conditions like this (or worse), there are legally no options to force them to get the help they so clearly need. It's a matter of having to wait until they die, and then...cleaning the Augean Stables. Only there's usually not a handy river nearby.

Other areas where a line gets crossed:

Having a close personal relationship with God/Jesus/Allah, perhaps even believing that He speaks to you... harmless, perhaps even helpful. Hearing the Voice of God/Jesus/Allah telling you to kill your children/congresspeople... dangerous.

With OCPD, in moderation, there are many wonderful qualities. They're usually very tidy and timely, give great attention to detail, and truly care very deeply about people they love.  There's a great blog written by an OCPD'r I know on the subject, The Gift of OCPD.

We would have many fewer inventions and modern conveniences that we take for granted, were it not for people with Aspergers, OCPD, and many other mental illnesses. Peter Roget (Roget's Thesaurus) probably had OCPD. Steve Jobs may have had it. When OCPD symptoms become extreme, however, they are devastating to both those who have the condition, and those who live with and love them.

The line is where the "quirks" become either harmful or dangerous, to oneself or others. Unfortunately, it is almost impossible for the person with the mental illness, or someone who has lived with him/her for a long time and perhaps become desensitized to odd behavior, to determine when the line has been crossed. Or what to do if it has.

My A-Z theme is Issues related to Mental Health or Mental Illness.

Have you ever had quirks that went to extremes?

If so, how did you recognize it, and what did you do?

Have you ever lived with someone who seemed to go "too far"?

Too Perfect Tuesdays - Chap 6 - Guarded with Money & Guarded Against Spontaneity

Image by epSos.de via FlickrThis post continues with Guarded with Money and Guarded Against Spontaneity  from Chapter Six.

This series looks at a small snippet of The book on the Perfectionist Personality, aka The Obsessive Compulsive disordered Personality, aka OCPD, each week. Please follow along, leave your comments, engage more on the FaceBook website... whatever your heart calls you to do.

Too Perfect, When Being in Control Gets Out of Control by Allan E. Mallinger, M.D. and Jeanette DeWyze was published by Random House in 1992.  If you believe you are dealing with OCPD or someone who is "Too Perfect," whether that's you or a loved one, please buy a copy of the book and read it for additional insights that will not all be covered in these excerpts.

GUARDED WITH MONEY

I find that many obsessives harbor a fear of being exploited financially - one component of an overall tendency to be guarded with money.  Frugality may take many forms, including the following: 

• A reluctance to spend money on anything but true necessities.
• The need to get the very best buy - regardless of how much time and effort are expended in shopping for it.
• A reluctance to disclose how much was spent for something - either because someone might judge that the buyer was "taken," or think that he had a lot of money and an easy life, or that he had been unduly extravagant.
• A refusal to make personal loans - or, if a loan is made, the lender tracks it vigilantly - even if only in his own mind.
• Feelings of utter outrage if some product or service purchased turns out to be flawed.
• Pride in making one's possessions last a long time.

More than just the fear of being taken inspires the obsessive's tendency to be guarded with money.  Many people learn early in childhood that saving is a virtue; they may come to associate it with out "good" characteristics such as self-denial and the postponement of pleasure for long-term rewards.  <snip>

GUARDED AGAINST SPONTANEITY

Another form of interpersonal guardedness is the inability to act spontaneously.  By definition, spontaneity means an absence of planning, anathema to most obsessives.  "I'm not even sure how to take a risk," said fifty-year old Jim.  "Before I do anything, I think about it every which way.  before I buy something, I've gotten prices at five different places.  I get things all figured out so I know which way to go, no matter what happens.  I don't like to get anywhere close to situations where I don't have a lot of control; I can never just be."

<snip> When there aren't any guidelines, they feel uncomfortable.  Many complain that they aren't good at small talk, and they may even avoid parties for that reason.  Instead they choose their words slowly and carefully; even their casual conversations may seem scripted.  One patient declared that unpremeditated talk scared her because of the possibility that "some kind of real feelings - weak feelings - may come out." <snip>

***

Ahh, frugality.  I am still struggling to overcome the training whereby one kept one's paper napkin as clean as possible, so it could be repeatedly reused.

Almost everyone who's lived with an OCPD'r has some horror story of the couch/car/mattress That Could Not Be Bought until we had checked thirteen kajillion places, and then dithered over the decision SO long that the process had to begin again.  Burning up three gallons of gas to drive to BF Nowhere to save twenty-five cents on a gallon of milk or loaf of bread.

And nothing could be thrown out.  "We might need that some day!" It took several years and bitter fighting to get rid of the non-functional TV sitting on the bedroom floor.  After the TV in the living room went out, I said, "Okay, now's the time to take the spare TV and get it fixed."
"I'm not sure it's worth getting fixed."
"Well, take it in and find out."
"I don't want to waste the money."
"Dude.  The reason it is here (along with a second "spare" TV, in storage) is as a spare if we need one.  Now we need one.  It's time to either fix it and use it, as a spare, or if we're not going to do that, it needs to go away.  I am tired of vacuuming around it."
He conceded there was nothing wrong with my logic, but it still took another six months of agonizing before he was able to junk it.  And he bitterly resented my "making" him get rid of the old TV.  (While I resented having to live for 3 years with a broken TV on the floor of the bedroom and another one in storage.)


There's nothing wrong with saving money.  I was raised in a household where gift wrap was carefully peeled off presents and reused repeatedly.  Where we recycled everything - even jar labels were carefully soaked off and included in the stacks of newspapers to go for paper recycling - and of course, the jars themselves were sorted and turned in: clear, brown, and green glass.  I still am big on recycling, but those with OCPD...

And the spontaneity.  My ex told me in the beginning he didn't like surprises.  I assumed (wrongly) he meant stuff like people jumping up and saying "Boo!" (which is actually quite mean, IMO) or birthday surprise parties, stuff like that.  No.  Anything unexpected freaked him out.  Like me coming home from the grocery store with a different kind of meat to try, or a package of Hawaiian sweet rolls  (which he liked) - the horror!  "Where are we going to put those?"

Forget about friends just stopping by (except his single best childhood friend) and hanging out.  Although, oddly enough, we were able to take a road trip that was largely unplanned, the idea being drive up the coast as far as we felt like, then get a hotel wherever we wanted to spend the night.  We had some minor meltdowns along the way, but for the most part, had a good time.  Some others with OCPD'rs report on vacation, it's like they've left the OCPD behind. (Where for others, the obsessive behavior and meltdowns are greatly magnified.)
 
 His fear/loathing of spontaneity carried over into things like loveplay in the kitchen.  There was no "surprise" affection, no kisses just because you happen to be passing the other person in the hall - at least from him to me, and I soon learned that those from mine to him upset him terribly.

Makes me sad because while I could say, okay, we're different people, whatever makes him happy... But it didn't make him happy.  I was lonely, not getting the kind of affection I wanted, being discouraged from giving the kind of affection I wanted to give - and he was lonely, too.  After the "honeymoon" period, I became painfully aware he didn't believe I loved him, didn't trust that my love would last.  For so long I struggled to show him in every way I could how much I did love him, thinking surely some how, some way, I would break through, and he would feel secure in my love, and then things would get better.

If he could have accepted (not simply tolerated, but appreciated, enjoyed) spontaneous loveplay or passing kisses, would he have felt more loved?


Your thoughts?

Growing Up Hoarded, Part 3: Thalia from Tetanus Burger Answers Questions

Metal runs via Tetanus Burger.  Used by permission.
As of October 2011: 
38 trips to the scrap yard;
16.5 tons of metal removed; 
Not counting old cars. 

What would you do if you inherited not simply a houseful of hoard, but an entire junkyard?  (To read Part 1, click here; Part 2, click here.)

Thalia and her sister Tara have been blogging about their experiences cleaning up their father's junkyard - and garages - and work areas - since June 2010.

The shows you may see on TV focus mainly on two things: a kind of train wreck fascination with the visual scope of the (worst) hoards covered, and the anguish the hoarder endures trying to give up any little piece of his/her "treasure."

What is rarely touched upon is what growing up in a hoard does to the children.  How does it impact them socially?  Do they inherit the distorted thinking that "there's a use for that," for everything?  Are they angry, hurt, confused?

Thalia of Tetanus Burger, for whom I hold more admiration for her courage and raw honesty than I can ever express in words, agreed to this e-interview in hopes of shedding a little more light on this issue.  To help those children and teenagers who are even now living with a hoarding parent, and wondering if something is wrong with them.

***

7) You and your sister share writing and photography duties on the blog. Have there been times when the hoard (or the blog) has strained the relationship between you, or has it made you closer than perhaps you might have been otherwise?

The blog does not strain our relationship because I am very careful about what I write on it. 

Rusty Jones makes an appearance on Tetanus Burger
whenever an old car is towed away.

8) On a lighter note, tell me about your jones for Rusty Jones, your red-headed, handle-bar mustached cutey mascot. How was he “born,” and if you ever saw him walking towards you in the flesh, would you flee in terror, or run up and embrace him?

He came about because as a child of the seventies I got his jingle in my head one day as we were junking a car and I thought it would be perfectly ridiculous to have him as a mascot.  Besides the fact that he is a cartoon, he is not, actually, my type.  Perhaps he is the Brawny paper towel guy's type?

9) Tetanus Burger the blog started in June 2010, and I’ve been following almost from the beginning. Refresh me: when did the actual clean-up start? At the current rate of cleanup, health and weather permitting, when do you think you’ll truly be done?

It started actually when I moved back in the summer of 2001; I don't recall what I did, except come back from living on my own out in the sane world where I learned something about what normal looked like.  But I have been told by Tara that my moving back was definitely an impetus to get things going.  My father was still there then and somehow my sister managed to convince him to start getting rid of stuff.  I don't know how; maybe he finally realized he was retiring and so didn't need to keep all these cars.  Honestly, I don't know; logic had never made a dent before so why should it have then?  It went well for a while there, but then Tara got busy and stopped helping.

After my father went in the nursing home, despite the fact that he was no longer there, it all just kind of sat for a few years, until I finally realized that we were free to clean the yard.  Yes, it took a couple of years to realize that.  So there's been a new push since last year, which is when I started to blog to help keep things rolling and to garner encouragement because frankly I just don't get that from this family.

I have no idea at all when it will be done.  I really don't.  I can't even in fact imagine what this yard would look like cleaned up.  I honestly have no concept.  It has been a junkyard all my life.

10) Besides the train-wreck fascination of the pictures, I’ve followed your blog because both you and Tara are gifted and very funny writers. Any plans to do something with that skill?

I don't like to talk about what I really do for a living, which does use those skills, or related ones, because I would like to remain somewhat anonymous.

11) What would you like to say to a young person living with a hoarding parent? What has helped you to grow and find strength and peace as you deal with the mental and physical debris?

I would tell them that it is not their fault.  Their parent's behavior is not their fault and that there is nothing whatsoever they can do to change their parents even if it were their responsibility, which it isn't.  Also, get out as soon as you possibly can.  They are fucked up.  It's not you. Trust me, it's not you.

As to your second question I don't honestly know.  Some kind of stubborn resolve that this is screwed up and needs to be righted, maybe.  Or pure anger and rage at the way I was treated and am still being treated in a lot of ways.   Honestly I think that's what it comes down to: rage.

***

Two things you can do right now, dear reader:


1) Add a comment to show your support for Thalia and her courage in opening up about this very difficult subject.


2) Download this attached .pdf prepared by Children of Hoarders.  It would be great if COH was a big, well-known organization with bucketfuls of money( they do accept donations), who could afford to print out multiple copies and leave them in places like schools, pediatricians' offices, and youth recreational facilities - anywhere a child of a hoarder might find one, and realize s/he is not alone.

For now, they are asking for volunteers, to please print out what copies you can afford, distribute them where you can.  And pass the word.


Thank you.

Growing Up Hoarded, Part 2: Thalia of Tetanus Burger Shares Some Thoughts

"Before" garage picture via Tetanus Burger.  Used by permission

What would you do if you inherited not simply a houseful of hoard, but an entire junkyard?  (To read Part 1, click here.)


Thalia and her sister Tara have been blogging about their experiences cleaning up their father's junkyard - and garages - and work areas - since June 2010.

"After" garage picture via Tetanus Burger.  Used by permission.

The shows you may see on TV focus mainly on two things: a kind of train wreck fascination with the visual scope of the (worst) hoards covered, and the anguish the hoarder endures trying to give up any little piece of his/her "treasure."


What is rarely touched upon is what growing up in a hoard does to the children.  How does it impact them socially?  Do they inherit the distorted thinking that "there's a use for that," for everything?  Are they angry, hurt, confused?


Thalia of Tetanus Burger, for whom I hold more admiration for her courage and raw honesty than I can ever express in words, agreed to this e-interview in hopes of shedding a little more light on this issue.  To help those children and teenagers who are even now living with a hoarding parent, and wondering if something is wrong with them.

***

4) Let’s talk about OCPD, the need to control not only oneself, but one’s entire environment and inner circle of family. I’ve blogged here before about being lectured by my ex because I left the shower doors six inches from the wall to air out after a shower, and they were supposed to be eight. (Or was it the other way around, lol?) You’ve posted about some of the things your father did to control your household, like post a sign on the wall directing how you should do laundry. But it wasn’t just signs, I’m sure. What happened around your house if the rules were broken?

I don't honestly know how to answer that.  We weren't punished, not overtly anyway; they didn't spank us (except when we were really young), or even ground us (and in high school I was out sometimes till four in the morning on a school night).  I'm not sure what the hold my father had on us was.  It was just the way things were done.

When I was a kid and reading fairy tales I remember once in a while coming across one that was new to me, which had rules that contradicted what other fairy tales' rules were.  I remember almost freaking out at that—how was I supposed to know what to do if the rules were different?  I couldn't see the underlying patterns behind them, which I can now, things like be kind and compassionate, help the unfortunate, be true to your voice.  It was just all about the rules.  And I don't even remember most of those rules, so I can't even tell you what they were.

That's the thing about growing up with a lot of invalidation; your memory is both damaged and discounted from within.  So I can't answer that, except to say that my father sure yelled a lot, and would always scream about how he paid for whatever it was and how that gave him control.  So I guess the underlying threat was that he wasn't going to pay for it, and then what?  We'd starve even more?  Freeze even more in the winter?  Be even more miserable? 

When I was a child—a child—I had recurring dreams about living in a totalitarian dictatorship, usually under the Nazis, who were always watching everything I did.  The only thing I could think to do in those dreams was to hide, which is I guess pretty much what I did in real life too.  What kid dreams of Nazis?  I remember seeing, not too long ago, a tv movie on the Warsaw ghetto, and one of the characters, a Jewish woman, was out doing something against the rules, something to do with the freedom fighters.  She was walking out on the street trying to look like she wasn't doing anything 'bad' with Nazis all around just looking for an excuse to harass her or worse.  I recognized the look on her face as one I must have worn most of my childhood.

My father's need for control was so ubiquitous I couldn't even see it.  Still can't.  There is a thread on the Television Without Pity forum discussing the Hoarders TV show; here and there they mention Tetanus Burger and I read it having Googled my way there.  It is astonishing to me that they talk about my father there a little and call him an absolute control freak, just a miserable asshole.  It is good to hear, but in so many ways I still can't see it myself.

5) Currently, many hoarding sites primarily reference OCD as associated with hoarding, not OCPD, and there is talk that the new DSM-5 will put hoarding in its own separate category. You’ve written that you believe your father to have OCPD, and there is overwhelming evidence that he hoarded. I believe my ex to be an OCPDr who hoards also, regardless of whether “they” decide they’re interwoven together, or two separate disorders. What has been your experience and thought process in learning about your father’s mental disorder(s)?

My father absolutely and without question was a hoarder; the overwhelming evidence is that he had OCPD (as diagnosed-by-proxy by two separate therapists of mine now).  It is not, really, about belief at this stage, or that maybe I'm wrong.  Because I'm not.  And honestly, in downplaying my experience and what I have concluded about it, I hear you downplaying your own.  You may want to think about that; I have noticed you have a tendency to side or sympathize with the abuser, usually in the guise of needing to be fair to them too (which is crap) which is why I am being so picky about the way you worded that.

I don't know where the OCD thing came from; cynical me says that it's a lot easier to get sympathy for someone with OCD than it is for someone with a personality disorder (which, don't forget, also includes sociopathy and narcissism) and so that's how people like Frost and Steketee have framed it.  I don't personally buy the OCD angle all that much.  Because OCD is something the person is aware of, and the person with it usually sees it as not quite right and so they actually want to do something about it.

Whereas so many hoarders, from my own experience and what I have heard hanging out with other children of hoarders, see nothing whatsoever wrong with their behavior, or if they do (for example if they are ashamed of it or try to hide it somewhat, which implies that they do know something isn't quite right) they seem to have no concept whatsoever that what they are doing is harming others. 

I do think that hoarding is one of those things that probably has a lot of different causes, OCPD being one of them (and there also seems to be an awful lot of narcissism involved from what I've seen); but I do think OCPD in relation to hoarding is very overlooked.  But then there are only a couple of 'experts' on hoarding and I can't say I'm very impressed with them. 

My experience and thought process?  Describing my father to that first therapist, she did put it together that it sure sounded like OCPD; but at the time I didn't really understand what that meant.  It's only recently, really, which means, since my father has not been here, in my face, in my life, that I can see a little more clearly, and so I have been able to start putting things together and researching a bit about OCPD and other personality disorders. 

6) Your elderly father is now mentally incapacitated, which has allowed you and Tara to begin this massive clean-up effort. Your mother still lives in your childhood home, as does your sister. I imagine your feelings about your parents must be mixed. Care to share about them, or not?

Kittens via Tetanus Burger.  Used by permission.

Actually no Tara does not live here in the childhood home; it's myself and my mother (and an awful lot of kittens right now).  I will say that, yes, definitely, my feelings towards my mother are mixed (about my father they are not particularly 'mixed' at all; he was a bastard).

My mother certainly has some issues of her own which are not minor and which I am only able to see now that my father's blindingly obvious dysfunction is no longer outshining everything else.

I always thought my mother fought for us and that she was not an enabler, as they say; but now I don't know.  I don't want to get into it much more than that, though it has certainly been very much on my mind recently and is perhaps the most present bit of dysfunction I have to deal with. 

(to be continued...)

***

I do soft-pedal the amateur diagnosis, on our parts, of OCPD for our loved ones, having had it drummed into me that only mental health professionals can properly diagnose mental disorders (and sometimes even they get it wrong).

Guilty as charged as to being mealy-mouthed in this question, and yes, to being sympathetic to those with OCPD.  Having come to know a fair number of people with OCPD in the last few years, as well as their partners and children, I know that people with OCPD are sick, not monsters.

Does that in any way minimize the damage they inflict on spouses, love interests, children, and co-workers?  Hell no!  In fact, (as Thalia has pointed out to me), too sympathetic an attitude can enable this disease, making it worse not just for those who live with an OCPDisordered person, but for the person with OCPD, him/herself.

Yet, my goal here on this blog is to not only learn to heal, personally, but to help others who are also recovering, and not to demonize people with OCPD, but the illness itself.  I would love, someday, for OCPD to be known as well as Bi-Polar Disorder, Schizophrenia, and the "sexier" mental disorders that get all the press, and for the people who have it to get the help they need.

That said, I do not want to discount in any way Thalia's experience, or the experience of anyone else growing up with an OCPD parent, or who spent years with an OCPD partner.  There is damage and pain that will take years to heal - if it ever does.


Two things you can do right now, Dear Reader:


1) Add a comment to show your support for Thalia and her incredible courage in opening up about this very painful and difficult subject.


2) Download this attached .pdf prepared by Children of Hoarders.  It would be great if COH was a big, well-known organization with bucketfuls of money, who could afford to print out multiple copies and leave them in places like schools, pediatricians' offices, and youth recreational facilities - anywhere a child of a hoarder might find one, and realize s/he is not alone.

For now, they are asking for volunteers, to please print out what copies you can afford, distribute them where you can.  Visit the COH site and make a donation, if you can.  And pass the word.

Thank you.  Stay tuned for Part 3, tomorrow.  (For Part 1, click here.)

Growing Up Hoarded, Part 1: Thalia from Tetanus Burger Shares Some Thoughts

"Before" Photo via Tetanus Burger - used by permission

What would you do if you inherited not simply a houseful of hoard, but an entire junkyard?

Thalia and her sister Tara have been blogging about their experiences cleaning up their father's junkyard - and garages - and work areas - since June 2010.

The shows you may see on TV focus mainly on two things: a kind of train wreck fascination with the visual scope of the (worst) hoards covered, and the anguish the hoarder endures trying to give up any little piece of his/her "treasure."

What is rarely touched upon is what growing up in a hoard does to the children.  How does it impact them socially?  Do they inherit the distorted thinking that "there's a use for that," for everything?  Are they angry, hurt, confused?

"After" Photo via Tetanus Burger - used by permission

Thalia of Tetanus Burger, for whom I hold more admiration for her courage and raw honesty than I can ever express in words, agreed to this e-interview in hopes of shedding a little more light on this issue.  To help those children and teenagers who are even now living with a hoarding parent, and wondering if something is wrong with them.

***

1) How old were you and your sister Tara when you realized other kids didn’t live the way your family did? How did it make you feel? Were you still able to have friends over, or did the hoard make it impossible?

I don't know how old I was, and I can't speak for Tara.  I think in some ways I'm only just realizing my family was 'different' now.  I didn't have many friends when I was a kid, and only one really who ever came in the house.  I don't think I had 'doorbell dread' like some children of hoarders report, but that's really only because no one ever came to the door to see me.  It was out of my hands in a lot of ways, and maybe that speaks to my father's control of things.  People who came by were usually there to talk to my father about Volkswagens.

2) Were you and your sister pressed into being secret keepers (though obviously, all those cars were a pretty open secret). Did you ever tell anyone about your home situation in hopes of finding some help, or did you keep things private because of shame?

No, not really; there was no shame attached to in in my father's mind; it was what he wanted to do, and had the right to do, so it was good in his mind.  There was no point in keeping anything secret, and I was never told that I couldn't tell anyone about it for example.  I had no idea at all that there was something, well I can't say that I didn't think there was something wrong because on some level I knew it was screwed up, but I had no idea that it was abuse and neglect and that there was help out there, if only possible help.  I had no concept.  I think that is because of both my parents' attitude that the world is out to get you and that things are always bad, i.e. there is no such thing as help so don't bother asking.  In fact the way they framed it, bringing in outsiders was always trouble.

None of that is to say that I wasn't ashamed of the yard.  It was obviously a junkyard and ugly and not like other people's yards.  But I couldn't really grasp it in a lot of ways because it was vigorously defended as absolutely normal and what my father had the absolute right to do. I think I saw the junk more as a symptom of being poor.  I was certainly told to feel ashamed of that, while also yelled at for complaining about being poor, like it was my fault.

3) Your hot water heater broke when you were how old? And someone gave your father - an auto mechanic - one for free, but despite having the tools, the parts, and the mechanical expertise to install it, he didn’t. Tell us a little about that process of living without being able to take showers - was there a time you thought he would do it, “soon,” and then gradually gave up hope, or...? Did you ever think it was romantic, “Oh, we’re living like Little House on the Prairie,” or was it simply pointlessly miserable?

I think it broke when I was six or so; they didn't install it until after I'd moved out in my late 20s.  Or maybe I was in my thirties?  I don't honestly remember when it did get fixed and I'd think I would, wouldn't I?  This—Tell us a little about that process of living without being able to take showers—is a very uncomfortable question for me to think about answering; sounds voyeuristic to me.  Let's just say it really, really, really sucked; yet, of course, I thought it was just what it was, if not, well, 'normal', since I know no one I knew lived like that, still I could never see it getting fixed.  It wasn't, ever, that I, that we the family, thought he would do it; he was always, always, since time immemorial, completely impossible.  So I at least never had any hope that he'd do it.  If he did it would have been considered a miracle.  Which didn't mean we, I, didn't try to convince him (since he also adamantly would not let anyone else, like say a plumber do it, because that would cost money when he could do it).

We always thought (well I always thought) that if he could just be persuaded in the right manner, if we could just talk to him and convince him with logic or appeal to feelings or whatever other humans respond to, that we could get him to do it, maybe.  It was never romanticized, though my mother certainly downplayed it and mocked us if we complained.  She has some problems of her own, my mother, trust me.  The thing is that because my father framed it all as impossible or very very difficult I grew up thinking it was this huge huge deal to install a water heater.  So I don't even know that I would have thought it was pointlessly miserable, because I thought my father had a point about it.

Now of course I can see just how pointless it was since I'm older and can see somewhat straight. That's the thing growing up inside such dysfunction; you can't see it for what it is, not at all, and children for the most part believe what their parents tell them.

(to be continued...)

***

Not going to add a lot of my own comments here, but want to say this part: "if he could just be persuaded in the right manner, if we could just talk to him and convince him with logic or appeal to feelings" really rang out to me.  This was a big piece of my relationship with my ex, and many others dealing with OCPD loved ones have reported similar experiences.  They seem so reasonable and logical; surely the fault is with us, we're simply not communicating in the right way; if we just found that key...  Only there is no key, no "right" way.

Two things you can do right now, Dear Reader:

1) Add a comment to show your support for Thalia and her incredible courage in opening up about this very painful and difficult subject.

2) Download this attached .pdf prepared by Children of Hoarders.  It would be great if COH was a big, well-known organization with bucketfuls of money, who could afford to print out multiple copies and leave them in places like schools, pediatricians' offices, and youth recreational facilities - anywhere a child of a hoarder might find one, and realize s/he is not alone.

For now, they are asking for volunteers, to please print out what copies you an afford, distribute them where you can.  Visit the site and make a donation, if you can.  And pass the word.

Thank you.  Stay tuned for Part 2, tomorrow.

Nightmare on Hoarding Street

Titanic painting via Wikimedia

When I was living with OCPD ex, I used to have nightmares, not infrequently.  I would dream of being on a sinking ship, or in a big magnificent house with the roof all tattered and open to the elements.

Once I moved out, the dreams mostly stopped having that horrific nightmare quality, though I do still dream, and they aren't all rose petal on the bed fun dreams.

Last weekend, I had my ex over for a brief afternoon, friends-type of visit, for the first time in many months.  The cat loved playing with him.  I was glad to see him - and relieved when he left.  Because he's still untreated OCPD, and some of the signs and patterns leaked out, although he was on his very best behavior.

I was filled with sadness and pity for him, but not even marginally tempted to take up where we used to be.  An objective person might find him attractive, for his age.  I see him wearing the cheap straw cowboy hat he obsessed over on one of our vacations, and it's a total turn-off.

Anyway, although our visit wasn't dreadful, I'm pretty sure my dream that night was related.  One of those horrible nightmares where you wake up with your mouth dry and your heart pounding.  (My dream interp books say these are "venting" dreams and one should be grateful for them.  Mentally, I can accept that, emotionally, it's harder to get there.)

In my dream, I was both observing (like watching a movie) and being the lead character, a young woman in her mother's hoarding house.  Not a horrible hoarding house, either, probably along of the lines of Living Room #3, here.

However, the items that had been hoarded were all possessed and/or morphing into portals into another, creepy dimension, a la Poltergeist.

So I/she was hiding out in the stark, uncluttered bathroom, trying to devise a plan to leave/escape.  Her mother was there, too, very sorry and finally ready to admit there was a problem.  We removed the shower rod and found some other stick/rod/poker kind of device, to beat back any attacking items as we tried to leave.

When we opened the bathroom door, all was quiet.  We headed for the first door to the outside, and opened it only to find another, locked door behind it.  Still the clutter didn't attack, though I saw some of it, crawling up on the walls, oozing and transforming into something threatening.

Reached the sliding glass door, pulled it open, and RAN.  Thought briefly about grabbing the cat, but was afraid to slow down or delay.

Once outside on the sidewalk, I/she found groups of neighbors gathered at another house, across the street and a couple doors down.  (The mother was no longer in the dream, although there wasn't the sense she'd been left behind in the house.)  There'd been a burglary and ransacking at that house some nights previously.  I began wondering if perhaps the creepiness of the hoard had been all in my imagination, if I'd somehow picked up the other bad vibes from the robbery and projected them into the hoarding house.  It looked so normal - from the outside.  Then about 7-8 dogs on their owner's leashes all turned to face the hoarding house and howled.  And I knew I'd been right to get the hell outta there.  The cat came strolling out then, and I felt a little scared of it, though it seemed normal.

It looks so harmless, here...

Then for some reason, in order to leave the neighborhood I had to walk past the house between it and the garage, which had several big glass windows, and I saw inside the garages mounds of clutter, topped with old Christmas paper and garland.  And I knew that it, too, was possessed by evil spirits, and I was terrified of being sucked by in, but I made it through, safely.

In the last scene/frame I was adjusting a GPS tag/marker that would be attached to the hoard, which my boyfriend ( a dream boyfriend, not anyone I know in real life) was preparing to sink to the bottom of the ocean.  Not quite sure what the mechanics were (how the clutter got gathered up, who did it, and how it got onto a raft into the middle of the ocean, all bundled together with yellow hazard tape), or the logic behind it, I just knew a tremendous feeling of relief, knowing it was sinking, and that it would no longer be able to threaten me or anyone I loved.

Pacific Ocean Garbage
Don't hate me - I know it would not be okay to ACTUALLY
dump more crap in the ocean.  It was a dream metaphor.

And I woke up.  Feeling like I'd done some heavy lifting.

I have several good dream interpretation books, and I pretty much know what all these dreams have meant: sinking ship (feeling overwhelmed), damaged roof (damaged/missing boundaries), and this latest, as well.  I definitely believe that dreams are worth paying attention to, though we must be thoughtful and leave some wiggle room when working to decipher what they are trying to tell us. 

If you'd like to add your own thoughts/impressions in the comments, or share a scary or thought-provoking dream you've had, I'd love to hear about it.

Too Perfect Tuesdays - Chapt 3 Not So Perfect Relationships Cutting the Clutter

This post continues with Rising Above Perfectionism: CUTTING THE CLUTTER, from Chapter Three.

This series will look at a small snippet of The book on the Perfectionist Personality, aka The Obsessive Compulsive disordered Personality, aka OCPD, each week. Please follow along, leave your comments, engage more on the FaceBook website... whatever your heart calls you to do.

Too Perfect, When Being in Control Gets Out of Control by Allan E. Mallinger, M.D. and Jeanette DeWyze was published by Random House in 1992.  If you believe you are dealing with OCPD or someone who is "Too Perfect," whether that's you or a loved one, please buy a copy of the book and read it for additional insights that will not all be covered in these excerpts.

Rising Above Perfectionism


CUTTING THE CLUTTER
Streamline your life, from your verbal style to your physical surroundings.  <snip>  The irrational worries mentioned earlier will keep trying to assert themselves.  They are habits.  Don't let them in.  Imagine them pulling you away from the current and, just as in completing a task, slap your hand on the desk, and say "Move!" take a deep breath, relax and refocus, then get going. 

If it is excess belongings that are cluttering your life, make the effort to pare them down.  <snip>  Another hidden rationalization for hoarding items goes like this: you want to do certain things with the items someday (sew that torn dress, read that magazine, repair that car), so you're saving them until you have more time.  To get rid of them would be to admit defeat - that you'll never do those things you feel you ought to do.

Once again, look at your personal history and ask yourself how likely you are to have a lot more spare time in the foreseeable future.  If the answer is"not very likely," then why are you saving these items?  Is it to avoid facing the fact that you can't do everything that "should" be done - that you're not perfect?  Wouldn't it be better to face that fact than to continue living with a useless pile of clutter?

***

It would be better... but hoarders can't do it.  Most non-hoarders will look at a scrap of paper with a mystery phone number written on it, shrug, and toss it, with perhaps a momentary twinge of loss/annoyance.

From Stuff: Compulsive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things by Randy O. Frost & Gail Stekete

Even losses that were not emotional were troubling, particularly the loss of a potential opportunity. I got a sense of this one day as we excavated in Irene's TV room. She came across a piece of paper with a telephone number written on it. Judging from its depth in the pile and the fact that it was yellowing, it had been there for quite some time, possibly years. Clearly, she had written it in haste on whatever she could find. As was the case for most of the information in the pile from which it came, she had not taken the time to identify it or put it in a phone or address book — it was just a number on a piece of paper. When she picked it up, she exclaimed, "Oh, a phone number! I'll put it here on the pile where I can see it and deal with it later."

"Why do you think it is worth keeping that number?" I asked. She said, "Well, I made an effort to write it down, so clearly it was important to me. And it will just take a minute to call and find out what it is. I don't want to do it now, though, because it will interrupt us." She hadn't made the call in all the years the paper had sat in the pile. Whether making the call would have helped her make a decision about keeping the number is uncertain. Perhaps the idea of a potential opportunity that the number provided was better than the reality provided by making the call.

Irene would churn - sort through the same stacks of paper, newspaper clipping, etc., over and over again.  To a lesser extent, I know I do this myself.  For whatever stupid reason, it bugs the hell out of me to "do" file folder labels, so I'll wait until I have at least a dozen or so to do, then prepare them, slap them on the file folders, and only then do I put everything neatly away.

I can relate to the "getting stuck," not wanting to admit I will never finish that cross-stitch project or read that magazine which contains some really good articles.  But I can - and do - get over it.  I may have a cluttered desk, but most of my home is not cluttered.  I keep things I need & use (food, clothes, shampoo, etc.), things that make me money (computer, software, reference material), and work on keeping the things I love (books!) to a reasonable level.

People who share moderate amounts of "stuckness" have recommended FlyLady as a helpful resource.

My ex still has jeans he wore in high school, with busted zippers, in a size he'll never wear again.  A large collection of scarves, gloves, and hats (we live in SoCal, and never went skiing.  Surely one, or even two sets, would have been plenty.)  The videotape collection, previously mentioned.  A non-working street motorcycle last registered in 1978.  So much stuff that did not make his or our life any richer, that he spent twenty times as much time churning over as it would have taken him to put them up on Craigslist, and goodbye!

I would be very interested to hear of anyone who has had long-term success in treating a hoarder.  It seems like all the success stories I have heard relate to those whose tendency to hoard is nipped by a partner in the beginning stages, not reversed in someone who already had piled up too much "I could find a use for that!" stuff.

If you have any links, please share, below.

Or, if you have stories of how YOU have battled hoarding tendencies. 

P.S. check out MIL Still Between Us, Tetanus Burger (both with wonderful pictures.) 

Too Perfect Tuesdays - Chap 3 - Physical Clutter

illustration from Wikimedia 
Dragon Hoards are jewels and gold
OCPD hoards are old boxes and spoiled food

This post continues with Physical Clutter, from Chapter Three.

This series will look at a small snippet of The book on the Perfectionist Personality, aka The Obsessive Compulsive disordered Personality, aka OCPD, each week. Please follow along, leave your comments, engage more on the FaceBook website... whatever your heart calls you to do.

Too Perfect, When Being in Control Gets Out of Control by Allan E. Mallinger, M.D. and Jeanette DeWyze was published by Random House in 1992.  If you believe you are dealing with OCPD or someone who is "Too Perfect," whether that's you or a loved one, please buy a copy of the book and read it for additional insights that will not all be covered in these excerpts.

Physical Clutter

Just as some perfectionists' speech is cluttered with too much detail, others have trouble discarding things in their lives.  They are crippled by the fear that they may make an irreversible error in throwing something away, and by their inability to prioritize.

<snip> When I met him, Karl had been living in his apartment for almost two years, yet boxes and packing crates were piled four to six feet high, filling most of the living space.  Though Karl had arranged a neat path between them to connect the various rooms, so little space was left that he had almost no furniture.  He even slept on the floor.

He told me that the boxes contained newspapers, magazines, and books he planned to read, "as soon as I get the time."  Nor could he discard old letters, broken tools, or empty containers because "you never know when something will come in handy."  Of course, Karl couldn't invite people to his apartment, where they would see the appalling clutter, so his social life foundered.  Yet each time he decided that he had to discard something, he was overwhelmed by the pressure of prioritizing; somehow everything seemed equally important.  <snip>

As we'll see in chapter 8, some obsessive go to the opposite extreme; they're too orderly.  But milder variations of Karl's disorderliness are common in obsessives.  They might generally be sloppy, or the disorder might be confined to one area of their lives - to their car, say, or to one particular closet.  In many cases the ironic underlying cause of the mess is perfectionism.  Cleaning up would require scrubbing every surface, removing every molecule of dust, finding a place to store every possession, a task so herculean that it would daunt anyone.

***

We've discussed the hoarding, a few (billion) times.  To those not involved with a hoarder, there's a train-wreck style fascination - how can you possibly let it get that bad?



It gets that bad because people with a hoarding partner either put up with it, hoping/praying they will get better and eventually be prepared to get rid of the clutter. The hoarder promises s/he will, "soon," but "soon" never arrives for them.  You have a better chance of standing in the yard waiting to get struck by lightning, than of a hoarder voluntarily deciding today is the day to start decluttering.

In some cases, the hoarding will break up the relationship.  This is largely why I left my ex, because he was not willing to address  the issue and get help.  (Yes, he had other issues, and became emotionally abusive, but much of the time he would "go off" in defense of the hoard when I would press the issue.)

There is every excuse in the world - I'll get to it later, there's still a use for it, do you know how much I could sell that for?  (Then why don't you, sell it?  Another excuse comes up.)

Many hoarders end up living alone (after all, there's not much room for anybody else.)

Some hoards include heaps of garbage and old clothes, some have neatly stacked boxes and goat paths, but a hoard is no way to live.  For a fascinating graphic & statistics, click here.

Yes, people who are hoarders are truly mentally ill.  But if you love them, if they totally refuse help, and you don't want to live as consort to the King or Queen of Empty Boxcity, what can you do but leave?

Your thoughts?

Birthdays, Glee, and the Amazing Technicolor Roses

My sister sent me these roses for my birthday.
Yes, they're real.

I celebrated a milestone birthday last week, and my thoughts are more scattered than usual, but I am feeling a quiet sort of contentment and happiness, with a tinge of sadness.

Birthdays are usually a mixed bag of emotion for me, because my birthday is also the anniversary of my mother's death from breast cancer.

Last year at this time, I turned the age my mother was when she died.  This year, I surpassed it.

Last year, I was in mental and emotional agony over the fact that my OCPD boyfriend, who I dearly loved (and still do love) was willing to let me leave, rather than get help for his mental and physical illnesses.  This year, I have (mostly) accepted that it is not and never was my job to "fix" him.

Last year, because the "shared" garage was devoted to non-operational vehicles and his hoard, most of the personal belongings that were meaningful to me were in boxes; said boxes were in a storage facility miles away, and filthy with dust.  So anytime I wanted to read a book, work on a craft project, etc. it meant arduous effort.  This year, my grandmother's china is proudly on display, my books are on bookshelves all around me, and my craft projects... well, I've worked on them a little.

No clue how it's done - they are NOT painted.

Last year, one of my hurts was that every time I tried to write, I was confronted with jealousy and interference from my boyfriend.  This year, I have written something almost every day.  Some of it even on my novel!

Last year, social events were few and far between, and always iffy when it came to b-f's attendance.  At least half of the time, he would plead ill health at the last minute and try to emotionally manipulate me into feeling bad if I went without him.  (Like when my writer friends held a dinner for me, to celebrate my getting a literary agent.)

Although I learned not to sucker into the guilt-tripping several years ago, it was still inconvenient and embarrassing having to show up at events without my partner.  Then again, when he did go, I was always on tenterhooks as to whether he would get obnoxiously drunk and pick a fight or otherwise melt down and make a scene.

This year, my social life is my own, and the only person who can embarrass me in public is me.

Last night I attended what was basically Glee live.  Burroughs and Burbank High Schools (which inspired Glee)  show choirs put on a combined show as a fund-raiser for Burbank schools arts programs.  I went with old and new friends, and it was much fun.


I didn't go planning to record, but the performances were such fun I decided to capture just a tiny taste.  They're selling DVDs of the show, too, which I just may have to buy.

This started out with the Day-O, Banana boat song, and segued into this:


Ex-boyfriend was such a snob about what "we" watched or what we did.  He felt he had refined tastes and liked nature programs, PBS, and dramas, but wasn't above his Two-and-A-Half Men, Cops, and Rehab (that's a reality show set in some Las Vegas chi-chi bar.)  The TV was on 24/7, and he felt insulted if I chose to sit and read rather than watch TV with him.

He would have had to be dragged to a show like this - although he would have loved it, had he gone and not done a last-minute bail.   The kids (and these are actual high school kids performing, not professionals) were really good.

There's so much that my ex refused to see, try, places to go, friendships to be open to...  I am so happy not to be living in his crazy cage any more.

I feel like my life is moving forward. I'm still digging out of debt - the security deposit, higher rent, furniture purchases, etc., all went on plastic, but I don't regret a dime of it (except when the statements come.)

I wish he'd have been willing to move forward too, but he was too afraid.  And after six years begging, reasoning, bargaining, and threatening,  all the while his behavior continued to get worse and more abusive, there was nothing else I could do but move on, without him.

Still, I feel sad for leaving him behind.

Your thoughts?

The Largest Hoard Begins With But A Single Piece of Crap



from My Mother-in-Law is Still Sitting Between Us.
used by permission
Please go visit for more insights (& pics) on hoarding

I didn't live in a Hoarding House, capital letters. 

I did live in a hoarding house, in progress.  I refused to live in a Hoarding House, but I could see the writing on the wall =  the boxes stacked in the garage.  Creeping into the computer room.  The non-functional TV on the floor of the bedroom.

When people (who've never dealt with hoarders) see news stories or hear about it, their reactions are usually, "I would never let it get so bad," they say.  "I would put my foot down."  They're not  meaning to be self-righteous, but they don't "get" how tightly those with a hoarding problem cling to their crap.  The few experts in the field have a very, very hard time trying to therapize hoarders to break the habit.

It's a very real mental disorder, although many hoarders live seemingly normal lives outside their homes or hoarding areas (some actually hoard in their cars, too.)

The Wheelchair

photo by Medical Products Direct

My OCPD ex devoted his life to caring for his elderly parents' lives in their last few years.  He bathed his mother and changed her diapers.  He spoonfed both parents as necessary.  When his father developed circulation problems, my ex did physical therapy with him, rubbed his legs, not giving up until the man regained partial mobility.  Ex's aunt loaned a wheelchair during this time, which had been used by her late husband.  Later, when ex's parents began their final decline, it was in constant use, especially for his father.  Shortly after his father died (at 96), ex b-f put the wheelchair in the garage.

This occurred in the first few months of our dating, when I was unaware of his OCPD.  Mostly, he seemed "normal" (honeymoon/courting stage) and I chalked up any quirky behavior as due to his loss and grief.  I truly thought him a hero, and in many ways, he was.

About two months after the father's funeral (the mother predeceased the father by about 4 months,) the elderly aunt came by while I was present.  The idea was to have the aunt sort through her deceased sister's clothing, prior to them being donated/sold, to see if she wanted anything. 

During the visit, she requested the return of her wheelchair.  Ex explained that it had been in the garage, and was currently all dusty and cobwebby, to please let him clean it up and return it to her at a future date.  Although it did occur to me that perhaps ex associated the wheelchair with his father, and had some trouble letting ago, I thought the clean-up excuse was not wholly unreasonable.

When he and I moved in together, over a year later... the wheelchair went from sitting in the garage of the parents' home, to sitting in the carport of our home.  Okay.  He'd had a lot on his plate, so it wasn't a priority, but surely within a few months, after we were settled in, we could clean it up, and make the trip (about 30 miles) to have a visit with the aunt and return the wheelchair.  No biggie.  So I assumed.

Shortly, as his OCPD behaviors flared out of control, the wheelchair became the least of my worries.  Still, I would make periodic attempts to get it returned, as it continued to sit in the carport, taking up valuable space, gathering more cobwebs, becoming more and more pitted with rust.

I tried reasoning, arguing, guilt, anger.  I tried mentioning it once a month; I tried not mentioning it for an entire year.  I tried bringing it up one year, early in May, as a suggestion for something we could do over the Memorial Day weekend; we could clean up the wheelchair, visit his aunt, and still have plenty of time for all the "normal" weekend activities that kept him so worried/busy (read, churning).

He wouldn't budge.  He didn't have time to clean it up; it had been used when his aunt bought it so it wasn't worth much anyway, and he was the one who'd put all the work into fixing it, so it wasn't like he was depriving her of something with much monetary value; it wasn't any of my business; what if he needed a wheelchair, didn't I know that he wasn't feeling very well?  However many times I brought it up, he had an excuse answer for why it simply wasn't possible at that time.

In retrospect, it's a classic example of how OCPD can become deeply conflicted when two imperatives collide.  On the one hand, the moral side - he verbally agreed with me that when somebody loans you something, you return it in as good or better shape as when you borrowed it.  And you always return what you've borrowed, even if it's a dog-chewed pencil with the lead missing.

Especially when the lender has asked for it back.  Returning something that belongs to someone else is the Right Thing To Do - and OCPD is all about always doing the Right Thing.

But then, there's Demand Resistance plus the OCPD hoarding compulsion.  (Note: It appears that in the upcoming DSM-V, hoarding will not be included as part of the diagnostic criteria for OCPD, but as its own illness.  While it's true that not all hoarders have OCPD, and not all of those with OCPD hoard, many do.  Of those with OCPD who don't hoard, many are the mirror opposite - they have a compulsive need to throw everything away.)

Hoarding, for some, seems to be tied to procrastination  (better not to do something at all, unless 100% convinced it can be done Right.)  To fear of catastrophe/future need. (What if I throw this away and need it later?)

Photo via The Concert T-shirt Etiquette Guide

Then there's the attachment most people have, to some degree, to inanimate objects.  Most of us have an old teddy bear or a favorite T-shirt, that has no practical use but we can't bear to throw away.  It's not the scrap of fabric, itself, but the memories that we don't want to let go.  When we look at that T-shirt, we are once again 18 years old, in a pack of friends screaming our lungs out for Dio or Black Sabbath or New Kids on the Block.

I can totally sympathize that perhaps in some subconscious way, ex b-f felt that the wheelchair = his father.  That it was really, really hard to let it go.  I did have a problem that, after nearly six years living together, seven years after his father's death, he still could not bring himself to return his elderly aunt's property.

Or, to get rid of a lot of other old things that were making our lives together worse, not better, and which, like the wheelchair, continued to gather cobwebs and were slowly rusting into the ground.

I wish I could tell you what the answer is.  In the end, I was not willing to live in a growing hoard.  Faced with the choice - get help, so he could understand why it was so difficult for him to let go of these things, or watch me walk out the door - he choose the hoard over me.  Despite the verbal and emotional abuse, despite so much that was terrible in our relationship, I would have been willing to stay and help him work on it, if only he had been willing to see a therapist and work on his issues.

He wasn't.

Now he has lost me, and his aunt passed away earlier this month, so he won't have to return the wheelchair. 

Somehow, I don't think he is any happier.

Do you have a hoarding story?

Do you keep, perhaps, too many items with sentimental value?