So this morning after I went to work, but before my hoarder got out of bed, Destroyer of Things got into some flour in the kitchen and distributed it liberally throughout the house. This should be a funny story about how cute he looks when he is guilty and how exasperating it can be taking care of a young boy who likes to destroy things. At worst, a story about ruined electronics. Instead, it becomes a story about trying to find all the places where the flour got to; finding flour in a nook or cranny weeks or months later; going through piece after piece of mind numbingly mundane items that provide little to no benefit to us to make sure the flour is out of all 'my stuff'.
It really should be a simple matter of vacuum, sponge, rinse, garbage with a little detailing mixed in. It becomes all detailing with the hoard. Then hoarder and I have a fight and everybody wins. Ugh. Sometimes it amazes me how little a thing can set me off when the whole problem is around me at all times.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
A good morning
Hoarder and I had a good conversation this morning about clearing out Destroyers bedroom. It still needs a lot of work, but there is a clear-ish path from front to back and most of the piles are visible from any accessible point in the room. She seems really committed to pulling his room together and I pulled back from my rage spiral enough to address my thoughts in as non-accusing a way that I know how. She interpreted what I had to say more or less how I intended it and the conversation went well.
I visited a couple of other hoarding blogs and sites yesterday and I think writing this and reading those are helping me to stay calm and be more understanding of her plight, at least in this short term. Hopefully it will help both of us long term. It was nice to have a conversation about purging and not have it turn into a yell-fest.
On a more tangible note, a pair of boxes of old dishes went out today, as well as a handful of board games. Win.
I visited a couple of other hoarding blogs and sites yesterday and I think writing this and reading those are helping me to stay calm and be more understanding of her plight, at least in this short term. Hopefully it will help both of us long term. It was nice to have a conversation about purging and not have it turn into a yell-fest.
On a more tangible note, a pair of boxes of old dishes went out today, as well as a handful of board games. Win.
Friday, March 30, 2012
What gives me hope!!!
Last summer I liberated my garage of about half the junk that was out there in an attempt to be able to use some tools and build something. IT... WAS... AMAZING.
I cleared out a space of maybe one hundred fifty square feet. That small space was like a little patch of heaven I could go to and accomplish something without looping into a hoarder rage spiral. I put together a couple of poorly constructed planters, built a speaker box, fixed a friend's guitar amp, worked on about 5 or 6 electronics projects. I was in heaven. I almost didn't even need to go inside the house because the dusty, ugly garage had become such a beautiful place. Prior to last summer I had a 8X6 foot space in the garage to call my own. It was like working in a cubicle, except I had the hypnotizing hum of a clothes dryer on the opposite wall of my cube. Cramped and noisy...YES!!!
It wasn't easy for my wife to stay out of the way, but she did. It caused a bunch of fights and she has some resentment about some of the things I got rid of, but I was up front about what I was doing and the results are still evident. Just typing about it makes me PUMPED!!! She has moved a little bit in Destroyers room, but at this rate it will be June by the time it's done (assuming there is no regression). Still, any progress is progress and I do have hope. Hope is what keeps me engaged.
I cleared out a space of maybe one hundred fifty square feet. That small space was like a little patch of heaven I could go to and accomplish something without looping into a hoarder rage spiral. I put together a couple of poorly constructed planters, built a speaker box, fixed a friend's guitar amp, worked on about 5 or 6 electronics projects. I was in heaven. I almost didn't even need to go inside the house because the dusty, ugly garage had become such a beautiful place. Prior to last summer I had a 8X6 foot space in the garage to call my own. It was like working in a cubicle, except I had the hypnotizing hum of a clothes dryer on the opposite wall of my cube. Cramped and noisy...YES!!!
It wasn't easy for my wife to stay out of the way, but she did. It caused a bunch of fights and she has some resentment about some of the things I got rid of, but I was up front about what I was doing and the results are still evident. Just typing about it makes me PUMPED!!! She has moved a little bit in Destroyers room, but at this rate it will be June by the time it's done (assuming there is no regression). Still, any progress is progress and I do have hope. Hope is what keeps me engaged.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
"My Stuff"
Since I discovered that there is a condition called compulsive hoarding, I have been making observations around my life and when talking to others with similar problems. In this time I've grown to LOATH the phrase "my stuff."
'My stuff' is so many things. It is a way to declare that you have a hoard in a publicly acceptable manner. It is a way provide value to things that are virtually worthless. It gives permission to ignore others' advice about things that 'aren't theirs.' But more than anything else, it is the equivalent of the 5 year old favorite, 'MINE!'
I've come to recognize 'my stuff' as a buzzword for hoarders. You don't have to know what all is in your stuff to refer to it as 'my stuff.' You just have to know that it is in that general area over there. It's proximity to your property is what makes it 'my stuff.' Need something; I'll look through, 'my stuff.' I know I have it, I just have to dig it out of 'my stuff.' You can't go through 'my stuff.' You have no idea what is valuable, so don't touch 'my stuff.' I know where it is, just let me go through 'my stuff.'
I've seen it in people that I talk to. I've seen it on shows like Hoarders, Clean Sweep, Oprah, and others. Oh sweet mercy have I seen it in Hoarder and Momma Hoarder. If you want to know if someone is leaning toward having a hoarding problem, listen for the term 'my stuff.' The loose or occasional use of the phrase 'my stuff' don't necessarily mean anything, but when there is ANY level of passion behind the phrase it is no good at all. Don't confuse 'my stuff' with any of the following: my junk, my fishing stuff, my sewing stuff, my stereo stuff, my storage unit, my garage, etc. In my experience, anything that denigrates the value of the stuff, or specifies a small collection of things rather than a collection of everything indicates that their mess is orderly and under control. 'My stuff' is bad. Bad, bad, bad.
Bad
Really Bad.
:::shivers:::
'My stuff' is so many things. It is a way to declare that you have a hoard in a publicly acceptable manner. It is a way provide value to things that are virtually worthless. It gives permission to ignore others' advice about things that 'aren't theirs.' But more than anything else, it is the equivalent of the 5 year old favorite, 'MINE!'
I've come to recognize 'my stuff' as a buzzword for hoarders. You don't have to know what all is in your stuff to refer to it as 'my stuff.' You just have to know that it is in that general area over there. It's proximity to your property is what makes it 'my stuff.' Need something; I'll look through, 'my stuff.' I know I have it, I just have to dig it out of 'my stuff.' You can't go through 'my stuff.' You have no idea what is valuable, so don't touch 'my stuff.' I know where it is, just let me go through 'my stuff.'
I've seen it in people that I talk to. I've seen it on shows like Hoarders, Clean Sweep, Oprah, and others. Oh sweet mercy have I seen it in Hoarder and Momma Hoarder. If you want to know if someone is leaning toward having a hoarding problem, listen for the term 'my stuff.' The loose or occasional use of the phrase 'my stuff' don't necessarily mean anything, but when there is ANY level of passion behind the phrase it is no good at all. Don't confuse 'my stuff' with any of the following: my junk, my fishing stuff, my sewing stuff, my stereo stuff, my storage unit, my garage, etc. In my experience, anything that denigrates the value of the stuff, or specifies a small collection of things rather than a collection of everything indicates that their mess is orderly and under control. 'My stuff' is bad. Bad, bad, bad.
Bad
Really Bad.
:::shivers:::
How I'm useless when helping with the hoarding.
Every time I try to involve myself in cleaning of part of the house, it starts off well enough. I pick up a few things, throw a few things away, move some stuff around. Getting stuff done! Soon I start to realize that I've spent ten to fifteen minutes trying to sort absolute junk and have only managed to move stuff around in a small section of one room. Then the ire starts to well up inside me because all I want to do is to take 4 out of every 5 things I see and make its way into the trash, with some force if possible. If I have the patience to soldier on my mood continues to get worse. This is when my head goes all red, I start breathing slowly and deeply, smoke starts coming out of my nose, followed by my ears, then I float in midair while stiffening my legs and pointing my fists to the floor and whistling like a locomotive, then I scream (I have video, but last time I posted it Warner Bros. had it removed for copyright infringement).
As funny as this is for the casual observer, my kids don't like it, my wife doesn't like it, and I don't like it very much either. For this reason, I rarely help with the cleaning of the house unless it is targeted to a small area or involves copious amounts of garbage. The goal is to get her to get rid of the stuff, to be a part of her getting well and resetting her mind. It isn't working now. I hope to be a part of her solution without undermining her healing. It is difficult to wait for her, and I don't think she is eager to get better.
As funny as this is for the casual observer, my kids don't like it, my wife doesn't like it, and I don't like it very much either. For this reason, I rarely help with the cleaning of the house unless it is targeted to a small area or involves copious amounts of garbage. The goal is to get her to get rid of the stuff, to be a part of her getting well and resetting her mind. It isn't working now. I hope to be a part of her solution without undermining her healing. It is difficult to wait for her, and I don't think she is eager to get better.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The problem of the Destroyer
My son is 3 years old. Destroyer-of-Things sleeps on the floor of our bedroom on a terrible infant mattress. His room is the unusable one. Last spring I made an empty threat that I would get a dumpster for the things in his room, so that he could sleep there. It didn't happen and now we're in the process of gearing up for another battle over his room. A couple steps down on the wuss meter for me after that effort.
His room is the biggest problem for me at this time. He needs a place where he can hang out and do Destroyer-of-Things things while the family tries to recover from his destruction. If you can't imagine what a child who is nicknamed Destroyer-of-Things can do in a hoarders home, let me illuminate for you.
Imagine a box of toys. It is a harmless little thing sitting in the middle of a room all by itself. Imagine a box of kitchy stuff that will never get used sitting on top of that box of toys. Now imagine a couple of piles of mail sitting on top of that box. Now imagine Destroyer-of-Things deciding that he needs into the kitch and the toys. Now imagine he doesn't actually play with any of it, just drags it around the house and then drops and leaves wherever only to return to the box the get after some more. Now imagine a little blond boy of three with the cutest smile on his face and a trail of destruction left behind him. Now multiply that by about 100 boxes.
The problem isn't cleaning up after Destroyer-of-Things, it's cleaning up after him in what is already a difficult cleaning environment. We can't really send him to a place to minimize the damage, because there is damage waiting to happen everywhere. Hoarder can't see it, even though it affects her the most. She says she knows it's a problem, but SHE needs to deal with HER stuff. This is common with hoarders. It is a way to push people away from trying to remove the stuff. Tell them what they want to hear so they will back off. Experts say that a forced cleaning is not a good way to get hoarders to separate from their hoard, that it will likely get them to collect faster and cling harder. I am growing weary of waiting for her to come around.
Hoarder declared in a fit of defiance earlier this week that I would see, she'll have his room ready in two weeks. I don't really buy it, but I will do everything I can to help her get rid of things.
His room is the biggest problem for me at this time. He needs a place where he can hang out and do Destroyer-of-Things things while the family tries to recover from his destruction. If you can't imagine what a child who is nicknamed Destroyer-of-Things can do in a hoarders home, let me illuminate for you.
Imagine a box of toys. It is a harmless little thing sitting in the middle of a room all by itself. Imagine a box of kitchy stuff that will never get used sitting on top of that box of toys. Now imagine a couple of piles of mail sitting on top of that box. Now imagine Destroyer-of-Things deciding that he needs into the kitch and the toys. Now imagine he doesn't actually play with any of it, just drags it around the house and then drops and leaves wherever only to return to the box the get after some more. Now imagine a little blond boy of three with the cutest smile on his face and a trail of destruction left behind him. Now multiply that by about 100 boxes.
The problem isn't cleaning up after Destroyer-of-Things, it's cleaning up after him in what is already a difficult cleaning environment. We can't really send him to a place to minimize the damage, because there is damage waiting to happen everywhere. Hoarder can't see it, even though it affects her the most. She says she knows it's a problem, but SHE needs to deal with HER stuff. This is common with hoarders. It is a way to push people away from trying to remove the stuff. Tell them what they want to hear so they will back off. Experts say that a forced cleaning is not a good way to get hoarders to separate from their hoard, that it will likely get them to collect faster and cling harder. I am growing weary of waiting for her to come around.
Hoarder declared in a fit of defiance earlier this week that I would see, she'll have his room ready in two weeks. I don't really buy it, but I will do everything I can to help her get rid of things.
A brief history of my hoarder
Relatively speaking, my Hoarder is on the functional end of compulsive hoarders. We don't have any stacks that could kill if they tipped over (a couple bookcases could if they weren't bound to the wall, though), she doesn't hoard animals and if we discover something that is just nasty it gets removed. If any of those conditions did exist, I would like to think I'd be gone by now (but my place on the wussy scale hasn't been firmly established yet, so who knows). Our personal hording problem exists primarily of junk ranging from covering the floor with a thin layer of tripping hazards to waist-high stacks of boxes of unused, often mismatched stuff that Hoarder needs 'to go through' to see if she can throw it out. Half of our garage is filled to near capacity and one of the rooms in our house is unusable, but we mostly function in the little space we have left.
My Hoarder is a 3rd generation hoarder, as far as I know. Her mother was a hoarder, and her grandfather was a hoarder. Grandpa Hoarder was an unusual case, though, because he was a functional hoarder. When he ran out of room to put stuff, he built a shed to store it. When that failed to house the collection he built a 2 car garage with a full loft space to store it. The way that I know that Grandpa Hoarder fit his namesake is what he hoarded. He hoarded building hardware. Tools, nails, screws, washers, wire, sandpaper, electrical, plumbing, you name it. It didn't matter if he new how to use it. It didn't matter if it was a little rusty. It didn't matter if the tools weren't sharp. It didn't matter if he had 8 of the exact same tool. If he had a place to put it he would keep it. You know, in case he needed it.
I came to the realization that he (or his disease) played a role in shaping his daughters when I was working in his garage and I couldn't find one usuable saw or set of screws. There were probably 10 hand saws out there and rows and rows of organized screws in drawers that lined the back wall (about 15ft long and 6 ft high). Ten rusty saws with loose handles and drawer after drawer of screws that were rusty or had the head stripped out. Eventually I was able to cobble something together for the project I was working on (the hoarder's greatest victory!!!) but it took me near three times as long as if I'd bought a box of screws and a 10 dollar saw and was able to plan it my way.
Momma Hoarder has a similar looking house to us, but it is a bit larger and there are less people living in it. As it is now it is essentially a one bedroom house with a den, two bathrooms, a kitchen and a living room. Similar to my wife's problems, she is living in stacks of waist high boxes. Her hoarding didn't present itself until she married a man with a decent paying job and got a job herself, according to my Hoarder. I don't know the circumstances on which her hoard began, but I suspect her first stable relationship in some time and a stable income played a role in the enabling cycle.
Momma Hoarder and My Hoarder have a cycle working where each helps the other 'clean' their house. This cycle has slowed in recent years, but it still exists. Neither is actually capable of doing the necessary purging to really get to the heart of their problem, but I believe that they support each others addiction in a way that is comforting to both. I imagine it a lot like one gambling addict asking another gambling addict if they will join him for support to pay off his final bet to his bookie. When they both come back with new bets they are both mystified as to how it happened.
My Hoarder is a 3rd generation hoarder, as far as I know. Her mother was a hoarder, and her grandfather was a hoarder. Grandpa Hoarder was an unusual case, though, because he was a functional hoarder. When he ran out of room to put stuff, he built a shed to store it. When that failed to house the collection he built a 2 car garage with a full loft space to store it. The way that I know that Grandpa Hoarder fit his namesake is what he hoarded. He hoarded building hardware. Tools, nails, screws, washers, wire, sandpaper, electrical, plumbing, you name it. It didn't matter if he new how to use it. It didn't matter if it was a little rusty. It didn't matter if the tools weren't sharp. It didn't matter if he had 8 of the exact same tool. If he had a place to put it he would keep it. You know, in case he needed it.
I came to the realization that he (or his disease) played a role in shaping his daughters when I was working in his garage and I couldn't find one usuable saw or set of screws. There were probably 10 hand saws out there and rows and rows of organized screws in drawers that lined the back wall (about 15ft long and 6 ft high). Ten rusty saws with loose handles and drawer after drawer of screws that were rusty or had the head stripped out. Eventually I was able to cobble something together for the project I was working on (the hoarder's greatest victory!!!) but it took me near three times as long as if I'd bought a box of screws and a 10 dollar saw and was able to plan it my way.
Momma Hoarder has a similar looking house to us, but it is a bit larger and there are less people living in it. As it is now it is essentially a one bedroom house with a den, two bathrooms, a kitchen and a living room. Similar to my wife's problems, she is living in stacks of waist high boxes. Her hoarding didn't present itself until she married a man with a decent paying job and got a job herself, according to my Hoarder. I don't know the circumstances on which her hoard began, but I suspect her first stable relationship in some time and a stable income played a role in the enabling cycle.
Momma Hoarder and My Hoarder have a cycle working where each helps the other 'clean' their house. This cycle has slowed in recent years, but it still exists. Neither is actually capable of doing the necessary purging to really get to the heart of their problem, but I believe that they support each others addiction in a way that is comforting to both. I imagine it a lot like one gambling addict asking another gambling addict if they will join him for support to pay off his final bet to his bookie. When they both come back with new bets they are both mystified as to how it happened.
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