copyright 2015 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
I woke up to a peaceful and quiet house. That is until my brain turned on. Then the anxiety started. It was almost incalculable the amount of things to do and our little sand clock was running out of time.
I hated the damn sand clock. No matter how hard we tried, it never seemed like we could hold it back. Time was the enemy now. It loomed over us, hovering like an unwelcome guest at a party. The neon signs shoved in our faces, every moment of every day, filled with the dates we'd sooner forget.
I did some affirmations and an energy exercise, Heaven Rushing In to help combat the negativity and remind myself that everything was going to be okay. Every time I did the energy exercise lately I broke down and cried my little heart out. It was a release of emotions. No matter what I thought, I was never alone. But that's how I felt most of the time.
I showed up about noon at the A-Frame to help sort and load the trailer for two hours. Good times. My Mom, bless her, was just loading everything, and I do mean everything onto the trailer. She was afraid she'd lose her beloved possessions. She had a lot of family history and was given a lot of cherished memorabilia and heirlooms. But a lot more of her possessions were just stuff. Mom was a flat-out hoarder.
I started sorting some of the stuff she was loading. Some of it I hid because it fell under my "Junk" label. I did find some of her valuable heirlooms stuffed inside the back of a closet. Good thing I found them too because it was a closet they didn't use much. I made sure we brought those valuables over to the two houses on Parcel B.
The routine was, we'd load up the trailer that was hooked to the back of tractor. Normally it would take about an hour or so to load up the trailer. Then Dad would drive the tractor about two hundred feet to the Glass House and Main House compound on Parcel B. Mom or I, or the two of us would walk behind the trailer to make sure nothing fell over the side during the trip over.
Then we'd unload the trailer, which normally took about the same time it took to load it. It didn't take long for the two houses, the Glass House and the Main House on Parcel B, to get crowded by everything that we were moving over from the A-Frame. While both the houses still had room, you had to move things around now to make room for the continuing inflow of stuff. It took a lot of energy to have to re-shift things around every time we brought another load over.
If you'd have been there to see the routine and stuffed houses, let me tell you, it was a sight to behold. Most of what was left now at the A-Frame were the large pieces of furniture and a little bit of loose stuff. Our plan was to move it the next day. The largest piece of furniture was my Grandparents dining room table, which was an easy four person move. There were also a lot of boxes left in the Garage by the A-Frame that we still wanted to grab.
Bill, the Bank's property rep that gave Dad the key, had offered to get a couple of guys together, men he knew personally and trusted, to help us move the last of the stuff. They charged ten U.S. dollars an hour, per guy. Bill was supposed to call over the weekend, and so far we had heard nothing. So worst-case scenario, the three of us would move all the large pieces of furniture ourselves.
It seemed like a daunting task but choices were slim pickings these days. It wasn't like we had anyone else knocking down our door to help. Partly our own fault because very few people knew. So we'd do what we had to do to get through, like we always did and fuck the rest of the world.
"Compulsive hoarding is a disorder characterized by difficulty discarding items that appear to most people to have little or no value. This leads to an accumulation of clutter such that living and workspaces cannot be used for their intended purposes. The clutter can result in serious threats to the health and safety of the sufferer and those who live nearby. Often people with compulsive hoarding also acquire too many items - either free or purchased."
Department of Psychiatry
University of California San Diego, USA
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A TASTE OF DESTRUCTION Book 1 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesNon-Fiction
I woke up to a world crumbling around me. Our Family Farm was in the middle of foreclosure as an economic crisis rippled across America. Hope was fading fast and there was no end in sight to the chaos coming for us, ready to destroy everything we...