I’m watching a show call “Hoarders”. It’s about people that suffer from the compulsive need to keep stuff. They keep meaningful stuff, dirty stuff, hazardous stuff, precious stuff, ugly stuff, cute stuff, any kind of stuff really. These people have a need to keep tangible reminders of their lives, often to the detriment of their lives. The effects are often devastating. Yho! If you haven’t seen this show you should. It’s shocking. There’s a thin line between keeping memorabilia and hoarding. Hoarding is a mental disorder that I’ve just recently heard about… well for as long as I’ve known about this show. It’s actually made me grateful for my mother.
I think I have hoarding tendencies. Growing up, I wanted to keep reminders of everything I did. I would paste chocolate wrappers on the wall… and letters… and comic strips… and newspaper clippings… and anything really that would stick up to the wall. I also had boxes where I kept letters, gifts, invitations, serviettes, ribbons, pins, stickers, elastic tags and anything really that would fit in the boxes. It didn’t end there! I was very attached to all my clothes and shoes. I don’t think mama liked having all that clutter in her house.
Every now and then mama would come and sit on my bed and ask about the things I kept and considers mementos of my life; memorabilia I could not imagine living without. The usually tactful person that she is would disappear and she would very brutally ask when do I plan to throw away some of that junk! Often she would visit with a refuse bag and we would systematically comb through my precious memories, laughing as we go along and into the black municipal bag my memories would go. Clothes and shoes would go to people she knew were needy and the rest to the municipal dumping site. This kinda visit would happen as often as mama saw fit, most of the time I hated them.
I soon realised when I left the house for university that I went back to my old ways… I didn’t have mother to pay me unwelcome visits. The freedom to keep what I wanted was exhilarating. I got a high This wasn’t without its troubles. My roommates didn’t share the same enthusiasm for keeping mementos and my side of the room was more often than not a sight for sore eyes and distressing for most people. I felt sorry for them. I’m not sure how or when things changed. I’ve recently noticed though that I don’t keep things as much as I used to. I periodically empty my closet and give away clothes I’ve not worn in a while. I do the same with my husband. I don’t give away shoes as much as clothes because I kinda like shoes… but I’ve had all my shoes stolen before. So I guess fate took care of that.
Since watching this show on hoarding I’ve realised that there are better ways to keep memories alive. After all this time of being mad at mama I feel grateful for her consistency. Her gentle persuasion, and the show “Hoarders”, have made me aware of the dangers that can develop from having an unhealthy attachment to stuff. An alternative that is safe and also effective is a must. Currently I keep a journal. Okay, I’ve kept a journal for a while now but I guess it wasn’t enough. So to satisfy my need to keep memories alive in a form other than word I’ve toyed with the idea of scrap-booking and/or a picture collage. I think this would allow me to keep all the bits that were stuck on walls and tucked in boxes in a manner that is easy to display. There more I think about it, the more convinced I am… so this weekend I think I will buy a scrap booking kit for myself. I think one book year is enough to document my family’s history…
