THE BASEMENT SCARE

We were watching the US show hoarders. One woman was clearing out a room when she realized the helpers were working in the backyard. As she hadn't been aware of that until that moment she was worried they would throw away stuff they were not supposed to. She got nervous and finally dropped what she was doing to run out and check on them. Seeing that was a little disturbing. The lack of trust. The level of anxiety. The inability to let go of it even if it was for just that moment until she was done with what she was working on.

That episode forced it's way back into my consience just a few days later. I have boxes of "miscellanious" in my laundry room and yes those boxes have been sitting there for well over a year. Right next door we have an unfinished room with piles of left over stuff from renovating and lets face it, lots of trash. Fortunately this room is my husband's. So on this lovely Saturday he set off to the basement in work clothes, while I was sitting here writing a blog post. My daughter came up from the basement with toys in her arms. "Look what I have mommy!" I just about fell off the couch. That stuff was CLEARLY from the laundry room! My husband was going through my things! I lasted on the couch for a total of 30 seconds. I HAD TO KNOW. I went downstairs and asked him in a neutral tone of voice:"What are you doing?" From the look on his face I had to asume my tone wasn't as neutral as I thought. He just wanted to clear the room a little for me. "What are you planning to do with the boxes?" "Nothing. I just moved them a little to have more room for you here."

I went upstairs and cried. Did I need any more proof? The thought of somebody touching my things, maybe tossing some of them was something I couldn't endure. I was a hoarder. Alright. It hurt. The memory of that day still hurts. I am crying again.