|redfirecracker (redfirecracker) wrote,|
@ 2010-05-06 12:34:00
|Current music:||"Fish On The Sand" - George Harrison|
|Entry tags:||family, hoarding as a lifestyle, life, makes me crazy|
Too much caffeine = thinky-thoughts. Or something like that.
I will be missing SPN tonight, alas, as I will be crashing at Mom's tonight and she has already declared the TV off-limits for something else she wants to watch. As I intend to unplug the TV altogether before she gets home from work and force her to begin cleaning up the living room in preparation for her upcoming surgery, it matters not what is on the TV schedule.
Yeah, Mom's scheduled for foot surgery in two weeks, which-- given the way time seems to fly any more-- actually means more like two days. She'll be on strict bed rest for a week and using a walker for three weeks, and let's just sum up the whole problem by explaining that my mother is a HOARDER.
No, seriously-- she could be on one of those TV shows and fit right in. It's really, really, REALLY SCARY.
lucifrix was the first outsider allowed into the house in . . . I think more than twenty years? Three years ago, she was helping me to move, and since I was downsizing from a large townhouse to a small apartment, I stashed some stuff at Mom's house. Diane used the phrase "ant trails", quite appropriately, to describe what it was like to try to move around in there.
Then I started watching these clutter-busting shows and realizing that there was more going on than just harmless pack-ratting.
It's tough to let go of stuff, I get that. I myself had an especially difficult time releasing clothes and shoes. Before I moved, Amanda came over and we pulled nineteen bindery boxes of clothes, six big garbage bags of shoes, another three bags of purses, and three of those portable-closet-things out of the attic and went through everything.
For me, I had to spend time saying goodbye to everything. Once I pulled out an article of clothing, reminisced a bit and then faced the fact that no, I was never going to be nineteen again no matter how cute that pink-polka-dotted midriff top might be, then I was able to let it go. ( We will NOT discuss the Z. Cavaricci shorts. NO WE WILL NOT. )
My mom is currently caught in a loop of belief that everything she's kept is worth something. We participated in a couple of church yard sales and in the first one, she made a good bit of money, so now she thinks that every piece of trash is going to bring her two or five or ten dollars, and she refuses to give up anything. I mean, even stuff that's broken or otherwise useless: like a Polaroid camera. Polaroid stopped making film for those cameras, so Mom insists that the camera is now a collector's item. I'm like, no, it's just WORTHLESS, SORRY.
In the second church sale, she made a lot less, but still some money, and again, it just reinforced her new belief that all her junk will bring her bucks. Which again-- to a certain extent, yes, I get it, but on the other hand, the reality of the situation is that sometimes you have to make the sacrifice for the greater good. In this case, her safety is very much at issue. There is *no way* she is going to be able to negotiate a walker through that house to get to the bathroom. I'm not even sure that crutches would be safer.
The problem with hoarders is that it doesn't do any good to just take over and do it for them. That just ratchets up the anxiety level and makes them hoard more stuff.
I just . . . I hope I can get through to her that something's got to give.