Hi! I'm so glad I found you! I have been struggling with squalor all of my life; I can't remember a time when my room wasn't cluttered and dirty. I'm even in trouble at work because of my inability to organize and submit paperwork on time.
I come from a line of packrats. My maternal grandmother was the worst; when I was a kid; by the time she moved to another apartment in 1980, her apartment looked as if it had been packed by a little animal. When I was a kid, she would bring up items that she thought my mother would find useful, then say, "If you don't need it, you can store it in the basement." By the time my mom sold that house in 1990, the house was FULL. By the time she died in 2002, her bed was surrounded by "perfectly good" items that she was going to sell at the flea market--it looked like a nest. I still have a box with her hairpieces in it--they're "perfectly good."
My mom is more of a sentimental hoarder. Fortunately, she has managed to pare down, but she still has great difficulty discarding items. Her biggest contribution to my squalor is the guilt trip I have when I discard items, or refuse items that she offers to me. I guess that makes me sentimental, too.
When I was younger, my biggest problem was discarding things--I can remember being unable to throw away a piece of paper as a kid! I never developed an ability to organize possessions or information, which hurt me considerably during my school years.
As an adult, I have always had too much of the wrong kind of stuff, no place to put it, and no system for cleaning or organizing it. The only time my living spaces were sort of neat was twice, after I left a boyfriend, and walked away from most of my possessions. I'd feel as though I were "starting fresh," that everything would be different, but I just filled up my space again.
A couple of times, when I was out of town, my mom and grandma would clean up my place, which disturbed me greatly. They never offered to help me when I was at home, but took advantage of my absence. After I screamed at my mom the second time, she finally told me that she was mainly concerned that I was depressed. I wasn't--I'd always been this way. She'd just forgotten, confusing me with my beloved sister, who's tidy and personable.
During 2001--2002, Howard and I nearly broke up (primarily my fault), then got back together, then moved in together. Two weeks after we moved in together, my brother became terminally ill, and couldn't live alone anymore. Mom and I brought him to live with us until he died. When I moved in with my DH (Dear Howard, since he won't marry me!) in late 2001, I packed boxes of possessions that were sorted. I then packed boxes labeled, "stuff," "crap," and "debris," depending on how thoroughly I sorted them. I put those boxes in a storage locker, and pretended they didn't exist. A few months after that, I changed jobs; then my grandmother died. Too much for one year. I tear up just thinking about it. I adored my brother and my grandmother.
I didn't unpack all of my boxes for several years. It was just too painful--disappointment, grief, ambivalence, and unfinished business. I stashed most of the boxes in the spare bedroom, and rummaged through them only when I needed something.
I finally reached my nadir (medical terminology for "hitting bottom") in spring 2007. My sister came up for a visit, but I had been sick the week before, and hadn't been able to clean up at all. I wouldn't let her in the house. My sister and I love each other, and she knows I'm a slob, and I still wouldn't, couldn't let her inside.
My sister gently suggested that I watch "Clean Sweep." I was surprised at how therapeutic it was--other people have trouble with this stuff, too! I also liked the way they sort a room: put everything outside, sort it quickly, then sort it more thoroughly. I started watching other shows of this genre. I learn something from each one, but their biggest benefit was desensitizing myself to sorting the clutter and discarding items. I watch them nearly every day, to stay strong on my resolve.
Then I started buying plastic storage containers. I have decided that there's no such thing as having too many plastic storage containers, as long as they're translucent or transparent. I have had success with always having a few containers empty and nearby, so instead of setting something on a flat surface, I can put it in a container. Sometimes my place looks like a flea market, but I can move the containers as needed, and my dogs can't destroy what they can't reach. I'm not a massive hoarder, so I don't expect to have containers piled to the ceiling, and once I get things in the containers, I can sort them more thoroughly at my convenience.
We even had guests over for Superbowl, and I didn't have to spend much time cleaning up. I felt so normal.
Recently, I even moved out of my storage locker! Once DH realized how distressing it was for me, he really stepped up to the plate, carrying boxes, discarding trash, etc. I NEVER have him around when I'm sorting the boxes, though. He's a sloppy packrat, too, but he wouldn't understand. To quote the late George Carlin, "Your stuff is crap, and my crap is stuff."
About 15 years ago, I was working in a hospital. As the security guard drove me to my car late one night, he told me that my car had been burglarized, which it had. He pointed to my car, stating, "Look--it's been ransacked." The glove compartment had been emptied, but everything else was just as I had left it.