Confession

David and I are hoarders.

Compulsive hoarding (or pathological hoarding or disposophobia)^[1] is the excessive acquisition of possessions (and failure to use or discard them), even if the items are worthless, hazardous, or unsanitary. Compulsive hoarding impairs mobility and interferes with basic activities, including cooking, cleaning, hygiene, sanitation, and sleeping. It is not clear whether compulsive hoarding is an isolated disorder, or rather a symptom of another condition, such as obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Ok... so definitely not to that extreme. Dave and I live in a very clean apartment. But still. I've been organizing today, and I have to admit it.

I have this problem when it comes to sentimental things. I just can't let go of them. Notes from 5th grade up through 12th grade. Cards. Sweet things that little kids make for me. Ticket stubs from anything. Wedding invitations. Invitations to anything for that matter. Hotel keys. Clothing attire from activities in High School, like Cheer or Dance Co. Letters from ex-boyfriends. (Yikes! Dave hates that one.)

It's not that I dwell on these things... but they are memories to me. People I was friends with. Experiences I've had. Etc... I guess I feel like I have to hold on to them or have proof of them. They sit in boxes in closets and slowly but surely grow... and grow... and continue to sit there. What is the point? What is my deal? How have I become a HOARDER!?! I look at these things like... once every 5 years! BAH! At least I'm an organized hoarder. Am I crazy or does anyone else do anything like this?

Dave on the other hand... he won't admit to having a problem. But Dave is a clothing hoarder. He has like twice as many clothes as me, and I swear, half of them are from 9th grade. No joke. (Yes, he still fits into his clothes from 9th grade.) Anyway, he has the hardest time giving them up. As I go through his closet to throw things out he makes remarks like this, "But I stole that shirt from Mark Fiedler in 9th grade." (Talisha and Mark, if you read this, now you know.) And he has to keep shirts because they have been labeled for specific activities. For example: He'll tell me, "That's a gym shirt. That's a boating shirt. That's a lounging shirt. That's a Bear Lake shirt. That's a Jazz shirt. That's a country dancing shirt. Etc..." Are you kidding me? Isn't a shirt just a shirt? Like, a nice shirt, and a not-so-nice shirt that can be used for not-so-nice activities? And jeans... he has more jeans than I do and as I try to throw them out he makes remarks like, "But those are 7 jeans." Yeah, 7 jeans that have sat in our dresser for 2 years. What is the deal?

We need help. Not really. But maybe a little? Someone come over and hold us back while you throw away all of our worthless belongings that we won't allow each other to throw away. Until then... I'll be contemplating how I've become so obsessive compulsive over things of "sentimental value" and getting rid of them. Maybe.