The Shame of Being Nothing But a Pig

Looking back over more than five decades of life, it's hard to pinpoint when I became a hoarder.
There were some signs that might have suggested that I was not ever going to be particularly organized.

I recall several occasions where I came home from school and every bit of clothing from my chest of drawers, all of the contents of my desk, and my closets were dumped out into the middle of the room in a big pile. It was my job to organize it and put it back.  I was hard-pressed to do so. Organizational systems just did not make much sense, as much as I tried.

Even as I write this, looking back on how angry my mother was, and how bad I was for being "such a pig," I am choking back the tears. I feel shame. It is a feeling that is not foreign to me.

This is not what I expected to feel so soon beginning to write.  My intent was to share more tonight, but I am feeling overwhelmed at this moment.

I even took several photos to share, but I will only share one tonight of walking in the front door.  It may not seem bad, but if you were to ask me how long most of it has been there, I would have to tell you the truth--four months. And this is the best of it.

This disclosure is going to be harder than I thought it might be.  I had not thought about that situation from 50 years ago and it took me off-guard.

I'm sorry, but I have to take some baby steps here. I will try again soon.

Copyright ©2015 The Anonymous Hoarder