Beating Myself Up

I don't need my father to beat me.
I do a good job of it on my own.

I didn't get anything on my list done yesterday.  In fact, when I left home, I did not get back until the wee hours.

It was one of those "avoidance days."  

You know the kind. Ignore it and goes away.

What lies we take on to fool ourselves into thinking we will feel better about ourselves if we come back later!

Instead, I ended up at thrift stores and came home with things that I felt would be cool to have. And then I ended up at the casino.

My life is out-of-control. 

There are so many things that I need to look at and share with others, but I have to compartmentalize.  I can't even share it all here, because I would run the risk of people knowing exactly who I am. I can't let that happen.

This is one reason that I prefer going to work. Work also gets me out, and gives me a way to avoid the rest of it.  I prolong going "home." (I struggle with writing that word because it does not feel much like home.)

When I work, I feel that I have purpose. I am around people. They see the good that I do and how I help others. They see the "put together" me.

If they only knew....

...the "real" me isn't so good after all. 

Copyright ©2015 The Anonymous Hoarder

Note: As I was looking for a picture to put with the title, which I wrote before starting this.  The picture (from Pixabay, search perimeters "beating") grabbed my attention and I decided to use it. The caption I used took me completely by surprise and was an eye-opener.

Overwhelmed, But with a Small Plan

Overwhelmed...

I have felt overwhelmed these last three days with the idea of disclosure and coming back to write (and reread) more. It affects all aspects of my life, and I notice that the more anxiety I feel, the more I am also drawn to other compulsive behaviors--over-eating, gambling, and more--as well as the hoarding behaviors.

Each is merely evidence of what is going on within me. Each is a way to numb out the feelings.

I don't want to feel this way anymore. But on the other hand, I have to feel in order to change. Therein lies the biggest dilemma, perhaps for us all.

A plan, though small...

I have shared one photograph of a small piece of my home.  I am unable, at this point, to share any more of the photos that I took, and they aren't even the worst of it.

My plan for today is to take care of that small 4'x4' section that I shared. I need to remember not to just move it around, but to do something with it.

I suppose the first thing I can do is break down the cardboard box. My tendency is to want to save the box so I can put things I will donate in the box. Of course, I have dozens of other boxes that can serve that purpose.

I know that some people may think it completely nuts that I cannot just pick this section (or anything else) up. I am not sure that I completely understand it. Even looking at  this little 16 square feet section pushes my panic button. Yet, I know I need a measurable plan, no matter how small it may seem to me or to others.

Looking at the photo, I commit to begin today with these simple steps:

1. Break down the box and put it in the recycling bin before I put it to the curb tonight.
2. Put away the groceries--the ginger ale in the refrigerator; the bananas in the fruit bowl (if I can find it).
3. Fold the paper sack, gather the other sacks, and put them away in the kitchen cabinet in the designated space I have for them. (I use them, so I do not have an abundance.)
4. Put the glass in the dishwasher.
5. Divide and move the toilet tissue to under the sinks in the bathrooms.
6. Clear the table by the door, so I have a place for my keys, phone and purse, when I come home.
7. Start a load of laundry with that small pile to get something done.

A victory, though smaller...

I also want to share that, though I did not take pictures, I had one laundry basket that I had gathered up with clothes and other things back in January that was sitting on the landing going upstairs. I sorted through the basket, and have several items to donate, because they are too big. 

Rather than wait until I have a bigger box, I could put them in the plastic bag (from the picture) and drop them by the donation site today on my way to my medical appointment. It's only six or seven items, but it would be a start.

Because there is so much here, that I have not shared yet, it seems that I will never get through it fast enough for me to make a difference before it's my time to leave this earth, but if only for today, my mantra will be:  

Progress over perfection!  

Copyright ©2015 The Anonymous Hoarder

Perfect on the Outside and Chaos Within

Trying to wrap my head around the memory and how I felt hearing myself referred to as a pig. Of course, the intellectual part of me knows how to respond, but the emotional part of me feels such shame and guilt, as I am taken back to the days of never being good enough.

That memory came around the time I was about eight or nine years old. It may have been earlier. I know that there were many times where the mountains of clothes, books, papers, crayons and pencils, and much more were what I came home to after school.

It was much more than stuffing my drawers and closets with my things and being a bit scattered by nature. If you walked into my room in those days, it looked nearly perfect. Perfection on the outside, chaos on the inside.

I couldn't have piles of anything on my desk, the bed, the night table. For those of us who, by nature, need to see the big picture, I think this might not be uncommon.  Couple that with a creative, abstract and random mind, it is no wonder that the details and precision of "everything has a place; everything in its place" seems stifling.

But back to the notion of "perfection on the outside, chaos on the inside"...that is exactly what life felt like to me at that age and what I was expected to portray.

My family had an image to uphold. My father had a very public presence, and because he did, so did his family.

My mother did not do well with the publicity coming from this life. She really was much more down-to-earth, trying to fit-in to his narcissistic world rather unsuccessfully.  But she did her best, at first, trying to keep her children and the house in a way that would not be an embarrassment to the family by staining the image that had been presented for the world to see.

Perfect on the outside...

There were very few who knew anything about what was happening on the inside of our family. I suspect it was happening long before I began to see and experience it.

Infidelity, emotional and verbal abuse, alcoholism, and physical beatings were all part of what we saw and experienced in our family. The rule was that we could not talk about it to anyone. 

Airing one's dirty laundry was forbidden.

On the rare occasion that I let anything slip out to a relative, I was labeled as the family troublemaker, problem child, and embarrassment. I was also accused of lying, so that the relatives saw me as such. It protect the adults from being seen as having a problem, or being the problem. I became the family scapegoat.

Chaotic on the inside...

I suppose that my messiness was also a way of getting some sort of attention in those days. What started as a bit of big-picture person and their clutter, began to be the only source of attention I would get as more children were born. It was nothing more than a consolation prize.

Something better than nothing...

Now, decades later, I do not want the attention for this hoarding, which is why I do not have people over to visit. I am ashamed. Just as I felt shame for being who I was as a kid...as a human being.

I don't really want to keep people out of my life or my home, as they are what keep me going. I need people around me. I want people around me.  It's been a long time since I have had guests come to my place.  I used to love to entertain, or have friends over for dinner or a barbecue. I haven't done that in years.

This is the reason I am writing this blog. To let others in to see the struggles in the hope that others will not turn away.  I'm not even sure if there are people who are reading what I have to share, or if they are struggling with similar things. I hope that some will share their comments and situations.

This cannot be only me that struggles.  I cannot believe that this is isolated to just my part of the world.

On the outside, no one knows. 

But I live with the chaos, which has become a way to keep people out. It has not been like that for my entire adult life, but it has for quite some time. I let them see someone who they think is all together. I do this emotionally, as well. What people see on the outside is self-assuredness.  My living space is merely a reflection of what goes on inside of me.

Perhaps, that is what I need to explore in my next post.

Copyright ©2015 The Anonymous Hoarder