The Purge - Part 2

*Confession time*

I am a bit of a hoarder.  Non-diagnosed – but whenever I watch those hoarding shows, I can relate *so* much to the hoarders.  Not in terms of keeping decades old newspapers or never taking out the rubbish.  But certainly the things that I hold onto have sentimental attachments, or very strong memories associated with them.  I find it really hard to part with things that other people deem worthless, like old bus tickets or a newsletter from college clubs I was part of.  I will hold onto broken things, because I have this idea that I will get around to fixing them.  I have all these craft kits and beginnings of projects that I just can’t part with, because I will get around to finishing them one day.  I just need “time” or “space” to do them…

As a child I hated cleaning my room.  Hating tidying up – because it meant all these “projects” that I was “working on” had to be dismantled and put away.  Which only meant that later on, when the project crossed my mind again, I would pull it out, work on it intensely for three days before my attention went elsewhere.

I’m also a slow worker.  Was always last to get started in activities and the last to finish by far.  So if I wasn’t progressing in cleaning my room fast enough, mum would come in and start packing up or chucking things out.  And that made me panicky and anxious.  I’m even feeling it now.

A few months ago at work, a storeroom was being cleaned out, in order to make a new temporary office.  I happened to be walking past as the manager and the new co-ordinator for whom the office was going to be for were getting started.  There were lots of random things left in there from the previous co-ordinator; posters and promo kits, craft and games, and the like. 

Now, if it was going to be my office and my duty, I would have held on to all most some of it, after carefully going through what I could keep and would be useful again. 

Joanne, the manager, didn’t see things like that.  She’d dragged in a wheely bin and was binning nearly everything.  Even things that (I felt) could be taken and donated, like some toys and games for a childcare centre, or knitting kits that could have gone to occupational therapy, were being binned.  And it was so hard not to rescue anything.  The old posters I had no qualms about, but the promo magnets… everyone can always use a magnet, right?  Booklets, a beading kit, informational CDs… binnned, binned, binned.  *shudders*  It was hard being the same room as this happening.  I even made the comment at the time, that it surprised me just how panicky and anxious I felt about all these things that were being thrown out.  These things that weren’t even mine and I felt panicky and anxious at how they were being thrown out, with no regard.  Almost no deliberation was made into whether to keep or chuck.  Most things weren’t even given the courtesy of a first glance, let alone a second analytical look about whether to keep or bin.  Joanne was ruthless.  : )

So needless to say, decluttering and tidying up is a big job; physically and psychologically for me.  I moved into my unit two years ago and I still have things in boxes.  Boxes that I haven’t even opened from a move back in 2011.  I just need to be in the right headspace to tackle these things.  I started on the spare room in my July holiday break… and made no progress since then  :)

It’s on my job list of things to do… But I’m just not sure when I’ll get there.