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Post by clutterpunk on May 10, 2009 13:55:28 GMT -5
The problem with living in squalor, especially in the kind that gradually devours your rooms, hungrily climbing it's way to the ceiling, the kind that destroys not only your possessions but also you sanity, your soul itself, the problem with this kind of squalor, (aside from the obvious, at least) is that you never just...climb your way out of it. You're forced, usually, and in varying degrees of public humiliation.
I say this, because this is the third time this has happened to me.
I say this because, as I sit here, my feet on a pile of junk, the very seat of my chair held up solely by the garbage beneath it, the press-board long since rotted through, as I say this, my clock is ticking down, and the end is near.
In some form, I've lived in filth my entire life, or at least the majority and therefore most memorable bits of it.
Here's where most people would be looking to assign the blame, that 'gasp! how can anyone let their children live in such conditions' kind of thing, but children are sort of like little piggies in that they tend to not really care about living in a pile of trash so long as they have enough toys and love to distract them from the fact that not everyone's bed and 'floor' are at exactly the same height, or that the kids next door don't have to squeeze through half-foot openings in doorways just to get from room to room.
I never hated my house. I only hated not being able to have friends over, which as an adult I have discovered is a rather over rated activity anyway.
It wasn't mom's fault. She's always had bad health. And dad's always been a jerk, always refused to help, and always been the first one to start messing things up the second they were clean. But it wasn't his fault, either. Not really.
This sort of thing, it's usually a collective. It's an evolution. Just as islands are made from volcanic rock collecting and forming and rising up from the depths, squalor starts in at the edges, starts so innocuously, until one day your furniture becomes the islands, the squalor the ocean. You merely pray not to drown in it, yourself, most days.
And then something happens. The landlord comes 'round, and they're going to sell the house, and want you out. And then you have no choice but to get out the scoop shovel and work until your bones ache, until black stuff comes out of your nose, until knots in your muscles all but cripple you. And you get out, get somewhere clean and new....
And do it all over again.
Maybe it's like the convict who's spent so much time on the inside, that they can't function when that time off for good behavior thing finally kicks in. Maybe it's just that you feel you'll go insane from scrubbing every speck of dirt in a blind panic for fear of 'doing it again'. But whatever the reason, whatever the cause, it happens again. Sometimes slowly, sometimes so fast it's like blinking.
But it happens, again. And just like the last time, something happens to force your hand, and you find yourself once more with the scoop shovels and 100 count garbage sack boxes.
The second time around, it was the cops. I was near enough to sixteen years old that I could practically taste it. It was April fool's day. It seems that what started out as a minor and probably foolish 'hobby' of my father's, the occasional sale of a certain illegal herbal substance, mostly to good friends, had taken a bad turn when a 'friend' had stiffed him for a couple hundred in counterfeit bills. Being normal, non-criminal folk, my parents had panicked and when another 'friend' had offered to dispose of the money, had seen no other way out and had taken them up on the offer. Of course this ended badly, and so I found myself woken up, on April Fool's day of course, by my mother telling me there were cops in the living room.
They picked and poked and scowled, coughed, sneezed, glared at us like we weren't human anymore but some kind of farm creature knee deep in our own waste. And when they finally left, finding very little to charge anyone with, we found ourselves forced to clean things up, only about two years after moving in the first place.
And so, things were nice and clean, to varying degrees, for a few years. Having random probation officers dropping by at random times, will do that to you. But when they stopped coming by, when the fear abated, things went to hell again. And suddenly it wasn't just trash anymore. Suddenly it was a burst pipe and no money to fix it, so for a long time we had no water, only could turn it on long enough to shower and wash clothing. And the pipe flooded the hallway, rotted the boards, causing holes to form.
And so the progression continued, as mom got sicker and sicker, and I got more and more depressed. And my father? Well, he never seemed to care. He'd blame us for the mess, act somehow above it all. And over the years, he spent more and more time at 'friends' houses, at his mother's house, pretty much anywhere he could.
It had been two years since the water went out completely. The old burst pipe, that skinny little thing that goes to the toilet, long since repaired with a DIY kit, but the water main under the house had a broken seal and a pipe needing repair, and the water heater gushed like a broken dam. I would sometimes go three months without a shower. Meanwhile. dear old dad would shower 'at friends' and his mom's house, sisters house...Yet we were almost never allowed to, and if we did, we were met with hostility or heard, from dad, after, that they had talked badly of us, said we messed with their stuff or left a mess or various things that were absolutely ridiculously. In our gratitude for a warm shower, we ALWAYS left the bathroom cleaner than it was to begin with.
But domestic abuse can be an incredibly insidious little thing, can sneak in and tie you up when you aren't paying attention.
So when we found out that my father had been having an affair for around 7 years, that said affair had been common knowledge to his entire family and even some of what we'd considered 'family friends', we were not nearly as surprised as we could have, should have been.
It seems that our squalor had been the perfect cover for him; he kept us here, never let us clean the place up (squandering money and outright REFUSING to get a truck and go to the dump, ever) made sure his family thought we were controlling and hateful and treated him terribly, and because we had no water, we couldn't leave the house, so he had no fear of being caught.
The day we found out, he left. A month later, his girlfriend lost her place, and he's been living in his car since. This was last June.
The water was fixed by a very dear friend, within weeks. But the squalor remained. It had grown by now, to a level I've yet to see documented. And my bipolar and anxiety, mom's congestive heart failure and separated shoulder, kept us from doing much more than simply continuing to exist, praying for salvation of some sort, since.
We had 8 cats and a large dog, as those things tend to happen, and though our house was a filth-hole, the animals have always been taken care of. But the universe, as it does, had to find a way to strike out and take more from us, and in December, we discovered our beloved dog had a tumor growing rapidly on his leg. Cancer, and hopeless. We could only keep him as happy and comfortable as we could, until March 1st, when we had to put him down.
Around this time, we'd discovered that all our back rent was piling up and the only choice was to find a way out of here. We've managed to stave things off until now, but we have to be out by the end of the month, more likely by the 15th or so, but we figure we can stick around a little longer to finish up.
Yesterday, I finally got to the floor in the kitchen. There's a fresh 20 yard dumpster in the front yard, just waiting to be filled. But taking the sacks out through the kitchen window, until the front door is excavated, is a task we can only really accomplish at night. The time we tried it during the day, last weekend, I had a panic attack that left me hyperventilating.
I'm basically on my own here. My mom can help some, but her arm is shot, and her heart is bad. She's not the scoop shovel wielding warrior she once was. I've taken that crown, now.
Dad's 'helping', but he's only about as good as his attention span. I get three times the work done as him, in the same amount of time. Today, after I finish writing this, I will finish the last section of my bedroom, which will lead me to the hallway, and eventually to the living room. I'm putting that one off, it's sort of like looking up at mount everest right now. But I will have to start on it, because at best, I have maybe a week before the sh*t really hits the fan.
Right now, the worst part, seems to be the horror. Worrying what the neighbors will think. Worrying about the smell coming from the dumpster, or the sheer volume of trash it will contain by the time we get it hauled off. Worrying that we'll need more than one of them, by the end of this. Worrying that my body will give out before things get done.
I'm writing this here because I think I need to. I think I need to document this, if nothing else than to be able to see it, see a real log of what I've gotten done every day.
And I think I need to just have somewhere, one place where can speak openly about this, without fear of judgment.
I finally told one of my friends the truth, a couple months back. She's been my personal cheerleader since, and having that kind of support, even from just the one person, has definitely made things more bearable.
I hope to update this with some real progress, and maybe even some 'before and after' pictures.
I need some real, emotional support, right now. I need to know I'm not alone in this, because there are moments when this tunnel seems much too long and dark to ever see the end of...
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Post by louiserae on May 10, 2009 14:17:34 GMT -5
You are not alone, this is a loving and supportive group of people. You are tackling this huge job practically by yourself, and I take my hat off to you.  |
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Post by iprocrastinate on May 10, 2009 14:22:21 GMT -5
 Hi Clutterpunk and WELCOME!! Sounds like a giant tASK BUT LIKE THE ELEPHANT IT CAN BE CONSUMED ONE BITE AT A TIME. (sorry for the caps) Come back often and we'll support and cheer you on or commiserate if that's appropriate or give you a nudge if you need and want that
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Post by clutterpunk on May 10, 2009 14:32:57 GMT -5
Thanks for the quick responses!
I spose I should also mention, since it might be unclear, that I am in my late-mid 20's now.
And yes, a nudge might be in order at some point, so I appreciate the offer!
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Post by skatters on May 10, 2009 16:14:19 GMT -5
Clutterpunk - what an awful story. I feel so bad that you have had to endure this alone.
We are here for you. Now. Later. Whenever. The more you post, the more we can support, encourage, kick-ya-in-the-butt. Hang around. You will be one of our success stories - I know it!
Do you and your mother have a safe place to go at the end of the month?
My best to you!
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toni
New Member
Joined: August 2008
Posts: 73
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Post by toni on May 10, 2009 16:23:59 GMT -5
Clutterpunk - Would you mind telling us where you are? Maybe a SOS Sibling is nearby and able to help.
Sending good thoughts your way!
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Post by crazycatlady on May 10, 2009 18:46:34 GMT -5
Nice to meet you, Clutterpunk. Your description of the hopelessness of fighting the squalor really hit home for me, although our actual situations are so very different.
You have been through a lot in your short life. Please know that things can change, and that with your determination, they will. We will be here to cheer you on as you dig out. You are doing amazing things. Keep up the good work, sister!
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Post by Little_Ninja on May 10, 2009 19:14:25 GMT -5
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Post by clutterpunk on May 10, 2009 20:09:44 GMT -5
Hey gals, thanks for all the warm responses.
I'm finally sitting down to (attempt) to relax for the evening, at least until it's dark enough to toss the bags out the kitchen window so dad can take them to the dumpster for me.
Currently, I'm feeling both triumphant and hopelessly overwhelmed. Very mixed bag here. I got the rest of my room done, at least until I move out the last of the bags and finish boxing the rest of the 'to keep' pile, and see what bits were hiding under it all. But the worst of it is now done, and I think it took as long as it did because so much of it was sorting through little dusty bits of god knows what making sure not to accidently toss something of importance. As it is, I somehow tossed out a tiny bottle of my favorite perfume because I thought it was another perfume and one I wasn't terribly fond of. So that kind of sucks.
Suffered some fairly immense fashion casualties, but also salvaged more than I expected to. As my name states, I'm a bit of an alt-gal, and my wardrobe runs high to the post-apocalyptic goth look, so as long as I can get them clean, some rips and stains and such in my clothing only ever adds to the distressed appeal. We'll see how those turn out after several good washes.
We're still trying desperately to find an apartment. We've got an application in at a very cool place only a few miles from where we are now, but I'm sort of pessimistic about our chances. In general, mom's rental history is atrocious, and our landlord here is a psychotic jerk, who left a message on the voicemail earlier this month telling us if we weren't going to leave by the first week of this month he'd call the health department on us. Nice, a threat, isn't that proffesional of him? He calmed, or seems to have at least, a bit when he saw the first of the clean-up efforts. His threat was mostly about some old rotting sheds outside the house, so we got to those first and therefore he has nothing to gripe about now.
We own this house, just not the land it's on, so he has no real clue what the state of the inside is and has stated he plans to just bulldoze it anyway, but I know that if we leave it a mess inside he'll raise hell and we don't want that. But I'm not seeing much hope in getting this place finished in time.
I'm in Oregon, since someone asked. Nearish portland, only about 20 minutes from.
At this point, right this minute, it's too awful to let anyone help with. Plus our plumbing situation is not great and therefore, no where for guests to potty, although I live about two minutes from a grocery store.
I may concede if I can make an impact on the ickiest of the mess in the living room, because I could seriously use the help, but as I said, right now, I think the stress of letting anyone see it as it is would be worse than any potential benefits it might bring. I have pretty severe panic disorder, so even taking sacks outside fills me with terror at the neighbors seeing. God, I'll be glad to be done with this crap.
Tomorrow I need to finish the rest of the hallway, and then it will be mainly just the living room left. That's the problem though, there's paths but they're still at least a couple feet thick, and then looser stuff piled up nearly to the ceiling in the corners. But a heck of a lot of it really is old sacks needing resacking, old rotting boxes, and many, MANY appliances. I'm not kidding, I think we have maybe 5 tv's and 4 microwaves out there. Not because we enjoy collecting them, mind you, but mainly for lack of a way to get rid of them once they broke down. Yeesh.
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Post by messymimi on May 10, 2009 20:12:22 GMT -5
Dear ClutterPunk,
You are never alone.
Keep us posted, and we will cheer every little bit of progress you make.
You are an awesome person to keep going with all you have been through.
messymimi
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hopehope
Banned
Joined: May 2008
Posts: 3,815 
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Post by hopehope on May 10, 2009 21:03:08 GMT -5
myself, i used to call it the compost pile.
sigh.
my place is tiny, but ... been there.
better -- hh
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Post by notsomessyshell on May 10, 2009 21:03:41 GMT -5
Yay for you!!! You are doing a great job. I am impressed with your attitude. A few  for you. Yes you are among those who understand and will always listen without judgment. We are a special crew here. |
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Post by skatters on May 10, 2009 21:21:13 GMT -5
clutterpunk - you have gotten so much done! Wow! I wished I lived nearer to you - I would be there to help. And wouldn't mind using the potty up the street.  Are you keeping track of how much you have gotten done? Keeping track of something tangible might help motivate you. 48 bags of garbage out? Well then, let's get two more done to make it an even 50! Before pics to compare to after pics (just for your benefit)? Something... anything... And I do hope that you and your mom are looking at this as a potentially positive thing. Have you considered how many pots and pans you truly need? Is paring those items down a good idea, so you don't have to move so much? All those sorts of good questions. Keep on moving! You are doing great! And when you need more motivation, perhaps joining us in chat will help get you over that hump. Great job you are doing! |
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Post by valor on May 10, 2009 21:40:31 GMT -5
Hi Clutterpunk, I'm so sorry you've had to go through the things you wrote about. It's good that you were able to "get it out". We understand here. You are doing a fantastic job. You and your Mom can have a fresh start. You *will get done* with what you're tackling now. I know a lot about anxiety attacks myself. I am going to run out of time on the compy in a minute so have to run...Take care, thinking of you-please let us know how it's going. |
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Post by hopefulnic on May 10, 2009 21:53:14 GMT -5
Welcome to SOS clutterpunk. This is such a warm and supportive group here. Your post really touched me. I wish I could just reach out and give you a great big hug and tell you how amazing you are for what you are tackling pretty much all alone. I have suffered with debilitating panic attacks in the past and know how horrible they are . My husband walked out on our 2 kids and I a year ago and I have been suffering with depression since. We have been on the verge of having our house foreclosed on for the past year or so. My husband did not even call me today to wish me a Happy Mother's Day which broke my heart even more. I pray that you and your Mother get the place you are wishing to get and that you can start fresh and be very happy. You deserve that! You have inspired me to start tackling my "mess" here in my home and in my life too. We are here if you need us!
hopefulnic
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