The Hoarder Moves House

I wish I had known what I was getting into when I decided to tackle the hoard.


This week I have been procrastinating over moving house, I have looked at the piles of things I have sorted out for Ebay, I have sat with the bundles of bank statements that are years old and of no use to me, the payslips going back approximately the 156 months of my working life. It’s so much worse than I thought.


Aside from sorting out the clothes I mentioned in my earlier post I’ve found stuff that belonged to my exes, things that I was making for people that never got finished, photos I have kept even though I don’t recognise the people in them. It’s like I have an allergy to throwing things away. I know I’m not the only person in the vintage world afflicted with this so I thought I’d do a post about it.


I am moving into what is effectively a box room and am finding it so hard to know exactly where to start with this huge pile of crap, and it’s making me more than a little depressed. I was so excited to move but to all positive things there is a negative I guess.


If you have ever seen the TV show hoarders, where some poor sod who started a china doll collection in 1995 has found themselves facing eviction because adult protective services are threatening to take them away then you’ll get the idea. It’s only a matter of time until they come for me.


My living space at the moment is just split into piles, piles of clothes, piles of books, piles of craft making stuff from every business I was ever going to start up and never did. As much as they are depressing me to look at and as delicate as I am currently feeling I am unwilling to do anything about them, they are mine after all and they are both figuratively and literally building me a fortress in which I can bunker down and wait for this feeling to pass.


My sister who has effectively been acting as an outsourced carer service has been in despair, why haven’t I put anything on Ebay, why am I not further along the organisational road, why am I just plain useless at sorting myself out (my words not hers).


Now don’t get me wrong, I am great at doing this for other people, I can give a “pick yourself and dust yourself off” speech with the best of them, but when it comes to myself I fall flat. I am very grateful to my sister for her help in geeing me up but I just want to ignore all of it.


I have always been the same, ever since school and the notion of homework was introduced, I procrastinate until racing to a deadline becomes necessary and, of course, stressful. After the stress has passed I give myself a hearty pat on the back for doing such a good job under these circumstances. Circumstances that are of my own making.


Moving should only going to be a good thing for me, I will be living much closer to work and will no longer have to commute, which currently has a massive impact on my life, I will have my independence once again and will be able to do so many of the things I have wanted to do in London (Swing dance lessons, joining the WI etc.) so I don’t know what’s got me feeling so sad.


It’s time to channel my inner landgirl and just dig deep I suppose. I have never lived far from my hometown in my life, even the properties I rented in my twenties were no more than half an hour from the house I was raised in and town that stretches around it in a deeply unglamorous part of Essex.


I’m going to miss it, I’ll miss my family, I’ll even miss our horrible little dog who, in his old age, demands to be let out for a piss every half hour. Maybe that’s what’s got me in such a funk this week, as I crawl closer to the finish line of moving day.


Also as deeply needy as this sounds I have only ever really lived with a man, and in single times I always went home. I will have housemates until June in this interim property before I try to find a suitable studio close to work. I hate the idea of living alone, everyone tells me I will love it but I seriously have my doubts. It’s something you have to try once apparently so maybe now is my time.


So this 31 year old wimp is going to pull herself together and get on with it, after all what else can I do, live at home with my mother like some co dependant Miss Havisham? Well yes actually that sounds rather tempting…where did I put that wedding veil…..

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