Iɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ sʜᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴ ᴏʀ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ
I was only gone for an hour.
When I returned, my room was spic and span. Everything was missing except my bed, my clothes, my curtains, and my door.
From then on, I vowed to never allow anyone to go through my stuff without my consent.
So far, that plan was working like a charm. If anyone went behind my back, I would go out and bring in more stuff to fill in the voids of the missing items. My husband never understood it. My children never understood it. No one did. Not even I understood this compulsive need to stash things in places they shouldn't be.
Man, did I stash. And do I.
I can't help it. It's a need beyond all others. My need to stash is incomprehensible to most, but to me, I know what I'm doing. I'm coping.
They won't get it, though. It's not something they can get in their airy little heads. They're airheads. All of them.
A knock sounds at my door, breaking my train of thoughts. Climbing over a pile of shoes, I peek out the peephole in the door. It's some official dude with a clipboard and a name tag that reads "Luke".
I sigh in frustration.
"Why are you here?" I yell in anger. Why is an official-looking man at my door? What right does he have to show up at my door?
"We received an anonymous call from one of your neighbours. You and your children are living in...squalor." He says, making emphasis on the squalor part, which pisses me off.
"First off, we do not live in squalor, we just have stuff! And second, how dare my neighbours bring themselves into my situation by calling you. How dare they! And how dare you come up here and trespass on my property!" I exclaim, absolutely pissed.
"Ma'am, I'm going to deem this house unliveable. You have a month to clean it up, otherwise, the house is the bank's, your children are the government's, and you and your family will have to go elsewhere. Good day."
I scoff. How rude! To kick me out of my own home! The nerve of that man! If he thinks he can kick me out and take my children, he has another thing coming for him. Just you wait.
YOU ARE READING
True Confessions Of A Hoarder
Ficción GeneralI don't think anyone truly understands. One day, you just wake up and think "where did all this stuff come from? How did it get here?" You always remind yourself "you did this. You brought this stuff into your home, and you neglected to place it in...
