I am an avid Oprah fan, but nothing rouses me to press record on the DVR more than episodes regarding the condition of “hoarding”.
Have you seen them? They’re the shows that depict the dire situation in which some unlikely souls are living in absolute mayhem. And it’s not the kind of mayhem created by unruly children or a crumbling marriage. It’s the kind that exists because of someone’s compulsive need to hold onto nearly every physical object they can get their hands on. As a result, they become prisoners in their own home, forced to skirt around piles of clothing or boxes of unopened gifts.
It’s a sad sight, but at least on TV, there’s usually a happy ending.
As the program progresses, a loved one will inevitably stage an intervention, causing the hoarder to realize just how bad the clutter has become. My heart goes out to them as I observe these seemingly “normal” people confront for the first time their homes literally filled to the brim with junk they illogically believed would someday serve a purpose.
But what kind of purpose could piles of already-read magazines or shoe boxes filled with twisty-ties possibly serve? The answer to this question is never easy for the individual responsible, which is the reason, the guest psychologist explains, that simply forcing them to clean house or cleaning it up for them is never the answer. It goes much deeper than that. Some even call the condition a disease.
If it is a disease, is it really that uncommon? I often wonder why, when my house is in reasonable order, I feel so much empathy towards those in this type of situation. In fact, as voyeur to these individuals’ amazing transformations, I can normally expect to find myself overcome with emotion. Perhaps it is because I, too, tend to hold onto things which no longer serve a useful purpose in my life.
This reminds me, I've got to clean out that basement…