Skip to main content

Hoarding and My Writing

Because Alan & I are starting a new business and I will be running the office side of it from home we have decided to make a concerted effort to tidy up our study/office. Part of that process involves me going through boxes and boxes of crap, throwing away the rubbish and finding homes for the lucky possessions that escape disposal.

This is a big deal for me because I was raised by a single mother who is a hoarder. She is still a hoarder and despite being a neat freak continues to hold on to Better Homes & Gardens Magazines from 1985 because one day she might like to go back and read them. This has, of course, led to me being a hoarder as well. I say of course but I suppose it is like anything, it could have gone one of two ways, it could have left me a complete minimalist who despised the thought of hoarding even the smallest item or it could have (and did) result in me being a hoarder to the extreme as well.

This time however, I decided to be ruthless. My hoarding does not make me happy, in fact it makes my depression worse. When my house is messy, my mind is messy and it gets me down. The thought of making it not messy also gets me down and so I enter an unhealthy spiral. Yesterday I created rubbish bag after rubbish bag of mess, ruthlessly throwing away items I have hoarded since I was 15 and younger. I threw away a box of letter my high school friends sent me after I moved to Perth, cause really what purpose do they serve me now? I haven't looked at them for over 5 years and why would I want to? I did nearly hyperventilate as I threw them away but I did it and I don't regret it.

However I also found some items I will never throw away. I found an old exercise book filled with poetry my 16 year old self wrote. My writing journal from Uni and some photos I thought were lost forever.

When I started this 30 Day Challenge I mentioned that I struggle with doing things everyday and when I opened up my old writing journal from Uni the first entry said this

The prospect of writing a journal, making entries every day, is a little scary to me. I have never been one to labour secretly over a locked book, recording my innermost thoughts. I become distracted. I forget that each day I am supposed to put myself on paper
Its good to know that somethings never change! I will probably be posting some more of my old writing in the next few days

Comments

  1. You need Peter Walsh.
    Seriously you are just sentimental. I have boxes of penpal/love letters, postcards all from a good 20+ years ago. These are my memories should the one in my head fail anytime soon. x

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thanks for taking the time to comment!

Popular posts from this blog

Week One... Or Should I Say Week Two Thousand One Hundred and Seventy Nine...

 That's how many weeks I have been alive (give or take a couple of days). Two thousand one hundred and seventy-nine. Yet here I am still fighting the same fights I have always fought. Self-image, self-acceptance, unrelenting standards, imposter syndrome.  Once again I find myself in a body that feels uncomfortable and unhealthy. It crept up on me slowly and suddenly all at the same time. I still barely eat any refined sugar. I turn down the lollies and cakes and doughnuts at work. It's not even a struggle, I no longer enjoy the way sugar makes my body feel. But my old nemesis, potato chips, remains undefeated. I eat potato chips to fill the emptiness in my soul. To feel as miserable physically as I do mentally or emotionally. To get comfort from an association with my childhood. It is the struggle I can't overcome. The war I can't win. So after months of trying on my own to no avail, months of the scales not budging, I have signed up for a healthy eating plan. I'm n...

I don't want to do this anymore

I am so over it right now. Everything feels hard. Everything feels shit. Everything makes me want to cry. I don't want to be a person any more. I don't want to be an anything any more. My children are smart. They get good grades, score well on NAPLAN, their teachers love them. Why then must they continue to do stupid things? I am so sick of a child running to tell me that so-and-so did such-and-such to me, I am sick of them hurting each other, I am sick of them destroying things, I am sick of them whinging, complaining, walking past rubbish on the floor, leaving shit everywhere, pretending they can't see the dog wee on the floor, having rooms that looking like the aftermath of a break and enter. I am sick of washing dishes, of sweeping floors, of the endless amounts of washing and folding and cleaning and tidying and cooking and planning and thinking. I am sick of feeling guilty for not being able to do those things that I should be doing, of feeling guilty that my husband...

now you're just somebody that i used to know

this song by gotye (good thing this is typed or i'd still be stumbling over the pronunciation... goat-ee-ay... gotcha...goat-yee...) is one of my favourites at the moment and is on constant rotation at my house and in my car. the song is about two ex lovers but has gotten me thinking about all those people that were once an intrinsic part of my life, helped me to define who i was and my place in the world and are now just some people that i used to know. we all have them. those people that we thought we would be friends with forever, that we talked to every day, hung out with all the time, people who knew all our in jokes because they helped create them, knew all the stories of our past. then suddenly you wake up one day and realise its been a month since you saw them, then its six months, then you can't remember the last time you saw them. you think about calling them but it feels awkward, then you tell yourself that they could call you if they wanted to. time passes and the...