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.
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