Lexie

I want to introduce you all to my gorgeous girlfriend, Lexie, and tell you a bit about her.  

 

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I was just about to move to another city when I met Lexie. I can honestly say she is the reason I stayed here. I had said before, all I needed was just one person worth staying for. I don’t plan to stay here forever, but Lexie is reason enough to stay for the time-being. I can’t live in any place with no one worth spending my time with. I can’t be alone 100% of the time. I need just one person who is intelligent and enjoyable. 

Lexie and I connect on many levels. I can’t even express how important intelligent and intellectual conversation is to me, and I have that with her. Humor is extremely important, as well, and she is hilarious. She makes me laugh all the time. She also sings, plays guitar and signs. I have been wanting to learn sign language for a very long time now, and finally I am learning. She sings and signs songs for me. She teaches me new signs all the time. 

Additionally, Lexie’s parents were abusive and neglectful. We connected there, too, because my mother was also abusive and neglectful. We understand each other because of this. We understand each other’s issues and fears. We understand the difficulties and anxieties that come from pasts like ours. 

Lexie and I haven’t been dating very long, so we don’t want to say “I love you” quite yet. However, we do love each other- we love the people we are, our personalities and quirks. So we started this thing where we say “I love-ish you.”

 

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See? She’s hilarious. 

 

Also, the sex is amazing. It’s the best sex I’ve ever had. It’s wild, passionate and exciting. I am 26 years old. I won’t be able to get away with having adventurous sex for much longer before people won’t excuse it anymore. Years from now, I can say “Oh well I was in my twenties, young and crazy.” You can’t say that anymore once you hit 30! With that said… Lexie and I have had sex in public places. That’s something I’d never done before. We didn’t get caught, thankfully, but it was exciting. I know, I know… I’m being judged by everyone reading this. I don’t care. Sex with Lexie is fantastic and the world should know. 

We have date night every week. We go to the movies, eat out, get drinks, and have sex. I am crazy about her. She is one incredible woman. 

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Autumn Changes

This morning I have a beautiful woman sleeping soundly in my bed. Her long red hair spread out across the pillow; her bright blue eyes closed and dreaming. 

 

I’ve been seeing Lexie for over a month. It’s not very long, but we’ve gotten to know each other quite well. I met her online. When we first started talking, I was drawn to her sense of humor and ability to discuss philosophy. On our first date, she brought me tiramisu because she knows it’s my favorite dessert. We slept together on our second date. A month later, she is moving in. 

Clearly, we are moving very fast. We both know and understand the risks of moving so quickly. She wouldn’t actually be moving in right now, but she had to move out of her old place and had nowhere else to go. She has been living with her grandmother since she was a teenager. I don’t want to speak poorly of her family on here, but I will say that it is mentally and emotionally unhealthy for her to continue living with her grandmother at this time and that is why she must move out. 

I ended things with Shanna as soon as I met Lexie because it was obvious that Shanna and I just weren’t clicking, and Lexie and I were great together. Shanna and I are still friends. Mel and I are having trouble with the time difference and each of us dating other people. She is seeing a girl named Chloe. 

I don’t know what will happen between me and Mel. We still love each other; we always will. We can’t be together, so we’re seeing other people whom we both really like. It’s still very hard on us. I have done well saving money, so I am confident that I will have enough money saved to visit her in Australia next year in July. I want to go for her birthday (July 16).  I don’t know if Lexie and I will still be together in a year, or if Mel and Chloe will. I don’t think that either of us should be in a relationship when I visit. 

 

I have been working two jobs for a little while now. My second job is elderly care. I take care of a sweet 92-year-old woman named Jean. That job has become my main source of income, and I love it. I love Jean and I love the work I do there. Some days I work up to 14 hours a day between the two jobs. I was afraid this would happen if I got a second job. I am a workaholic and I have a hard time prioritizing my health and well-being over financial gain. I am admittedly money-obsessed. I would say money is the only thing I hoard. I’m great at saving money; I always have been. I think it’s because I grew up in poverty. I’m not making millions, but I’m making enough to feel secure and not worry about emergencies. 

Speaking of emergencies, my cat got sick recently and I had to take him to the vet. It was the most wonderful feeling to be able to make an appointment and have the funds to treat him immediately. If I had still been living in my old place under my mother, I would have had to just wait out his illness. My mother wouldn’t have thought he was sick enough to even go to the vet. The way I feel about my independence here, especially financial independence, is simply indescribable. Hence my obsession with money and being a workaholic. 

 

I also have another roommate. His name is Brett and he’s a 19-year-old gay boy. I say “boy” because he’s still very much a child. He is not my ideal roommate, but he’s not too bad. 

 

All in all, I am very happy. Life is wonderful right now. Lexie makes me happy. Every other girl I’ve dated since moving here has not officially made it to the “girlfriend” status. I called them my girlfriends sometimes just because it was easier than trying to explain the causal dating thing every time, but Lexie and I are actually official. I asked her to be my girlfriend on June 23rd. 

 

That is all for now. Thank you for reading. 

Date Night and Love

For nearly a week I have been overly excited about my date tonight. Shanna is coming over and we are going to watch movies and drink and eat and just stay up all night having fun. I have been impatiently waiting for today to arrive. All week I have been looking forward to this. 

That was, until my ex fiance, Mel, scared me senseless. Something had happened and I was scared for her safety. 

Now, for those of you who don’t know, my ex lives in Australia. We love each other, but we can’t be together, so we have both been dating other people. I guess our relationship is a bit odd in that we admittedly love each other, but still tell each other all about our dates and such. But she is my best friend. 

Unfortunately, she’s not just my best friend. She is everything. She is my favorite person; the most important person. 

The time difference and distance between us is difficult, even for friendship. I knew something bad was going on, but her phone stopped working and I had to spend hours not knowing if she was okay. The thought of potentially losing her pretty much sent me into hysterics. Losing her would be my absolute greatest fear. It would completely destroy me. 

Luckily her phone started working again this morning and she is okay. But the last 24 hours of fear and concern have me not even wanting to go through with my date tonight. 

How am I supposed to date and see people when my heart is in Australia with someone I can’t be with? What am I supposed to do? My love for Mel grows stronger every day instead of lessening with time. Time is supposed to heal and strengthen. People are supposed to move on in time. I don’t seem to be able to do that. 

It’s been almost a year since we broke up due to the distance and not being able to be together. And I love her more now than I did a year ago, and will love her more still tomorrow. 

I’ve tucked her away in a special place in my heart that has allowed me to date other people and call Mel my friend. But things like this pull her out of that place and put her above everything and everyone else, so all I can see or feel or think about is her. 

I need to get her back into that place in my heart so I can enjoy my date with someone else tonight… but I don’t want to. All I want is Mel. To talk to her, to hear her voice, see her face, feel her touch.

And to never, ever lose her. 

Love Thy Neighbor…

Over the last several months since a single father and his teenage daughter moved into the other half of my duplex, I have done everything I can to be a good neighbor and a good person to them. 

The daughter, Samantha, smokes weed. I told her when they moved in that I don’t have a problem with her smoking weed, but it makes me violently ill and I asked her not to smoke inside the house because we share a ventilation system. 

Even when I realized that her father was dealing drugs, I still didn’t call the landlord or the police. I should have, but Samantha is an intelligent girl who was accepted into college at only 16 years old and I didn’t want to screw that up for her. She has a full scholarship. She also been abused her whole life and seriously deserves a break. She’s not perfect. She is quite an angry and sometimes violent person, as well as a bit of a brat. But she has been through hell in her life and this was her chance to build a better life for herself. 

Repeatedly, she has continued to smoke weed in the house and I have had to talk to her and explain over and over that I’m allergic and it makes me very sick. I usually talk to her and she agrees to smoke outside and that’s the end of it for a while. 

Then on Thursday I came home to find my house filled with weed. I immediately got sick, but I was also absolutely livid. I try not to talk to people when I’m angry, especially that angry. I waited until I’d calmed down a little and then I approached Samantha alone. I calmly stated that I have asked her multiple times very nicely not to smoke inside because it me makes me very sick. She replied and said she didn’t care and this was her house, too, and she would smoke inside if she wanted to. I told her that the landlady doesn’t even want cigarette smoke in the house, let alone weed. I made it clear that if she couldn’t respect my one request for my own health, I would be forced to call the landlady. 

She continued to smoke weed inside all night. I shut my air vents and turned off the AC, but it barely helped. She was smoking so much! I locked my cats in one room that smelled the least like weed. I was so sick that I was shaking, dry heaving and crying. I had to call the landlady. I was up all night sick. 

I was just starting to stop shaking at 10:00 the next morning when Samantha decided to smoke in the house again! In addition to being sick, I then started to panic. My reactions to marijuana is extreme, which is why I say I’m allergic. I’ve never been tested for an allergy to it. I don’t see how I could go to a doctor and request a weed allergy test. I have been hospitalized for it before, though, but I was too out of it to be able to tell the hospital that it was weed that was making me that way. 

The landlady called the police and I talked to them. I explained how it makes me sick and that I really didn’t want this girl’s future ruined over weed, but that I cannot physically tolerate it in my house. The cops arrived at 2:00 in the afternoon and the neighbors had still not stopped smoking it. In fact, despite the cops knocking on their door, they refused to answer the door and smoked their weed from 10:00am to 3:00pm. The cop could smell the weed at the door. He asked if he could come into my side of the duplex and I allowed him. He smelled the weed coming from the vents when I opened them. He stuck around for over an hour, but no one answered the door or came outside.

Samantha had left around noon, but her friend stayed in the house and continued smoking. Even her mother had been smoking in the house. The cop told me to call the police every time they smoke inside and hopefully if there are police at their house every day, they will stop smoking inside. 

Samantha’s father doesn’t want to get evicted, so he is angry at Samantha and angry at me. He hasn’t spoken to me since the police came. They called him when they were here. He has been at home since then, though, and hasn’t allowed anyone to smoke to inside. 

Last night, Samantha stood outside my bedroom window at midnight and screamed for 20 minutes about not being allowed to smoke inside. I considered calling the police again because I know this girl can be violent, and her father is a drug dealer, and they all hate me right now. I didn’t call, though. I still don’t want to get her arrested. 

I got no sleep again last night, but at least it wasn’t because of weed making me violently ill. 

Since all of this started, I have been afraid to live here alone. My friend, Sophie agreed to stay with me for a little while, and this guy I’ve been talking to about renting my spare room said that he can move in next month. The landlady is concerned for my safety, too, and even offered to let me move into her house until this is over. She is trying to evict them. I’m scared to leave my cats here, too, though. Sophie staying here is helping me a lot. I know my cats and my house are safe while I’m at work. 

I think I have been more than reasonable with my neighbors, considering all of their illegal activity. I think if you can’t smoke weed respectfully, to the point that you will endanger someone’s health, you are acting illegally. Similarly to someone who drives drunk and endangers people’s safety. I would never have called anyone about her smoking weed if she could respect my one and only boundary that is for my health and well-being. 

 

So that’s where I’m at right now. It’s not over yet. 

Sex

Why are all things sex so uncomfortable for people?

Whether it is gender, sexual orientation or intercourse, it seems to make so many people uncomfortable. 

I have a friend who is transgender. She has transitioned from male to female. Her name is Sophie. 

I was interviewing a potential roommate who is a man. His name is Vinny. It was pretty clear from the beginning that he found me attractive, so I had to make sure he knew and was able to accept that I am gay. As things got more serious, I also needed to make sure he would be respectful to my friends. Sophie has been through hell in her transition and she is very sensitive. Vinny and I were discussing friendships and possible visitors, what was allowed, etc. I told him about Sophie and asked if he would have a problem with her. 

This conversation ensued: 

Vinny- “You mean she’s a girl with a dick?” 

Me- “I wouldn’t know; I’ve never seen her naked.” 

Vinny- “Haha, good one. It would be okay, but there would be boundaries.”

Me- “Boundaries?” 

Vinny- “I don’t judge anyone. I don’t mind gay guys as long as they don’t hit on me. So, I just don’t want her hitting on me.” 

Me- “Yeah I feel ya. I don’t mind straight guys as long as they don’t hit on me, either. So, I’m right there with ya. 😉 ” 

*I was trying to make a point there. 

Vinny- “I love lesbians, though! I’m a lesbian! Lol” 

Me- “Haha yeah Sophie is a lesbian, too.” 

 

Sigh. The ignorance is appalling to me. First of all, why is it perfectly acceptable for men to hit on me when I’m gay, but it’s SO unacceptable for a gay man to hit on a straight man? Hypocrisy much? Secondly, a lesbian is defined as a homosexual woman. Homosexual is defined as a person who is sexually attracted to people of their own sex. Why do straight men say they’re lesbians? That makes no sense at all. 

Now, on the topic of gender, why is it so outrageous for someone to feel more masculine or more feminine? Why do men HAVE to be masculine and women HAVE to be feminine? 

As I was typing this, a little girl just asked a man why he is wearing pink. He asked the little girl why she’s wearing pink and she replied “Because I’m a girl.” Even a small child is shocked by someone stepping out of the gender box in such a small way as wearing a pink jacket. This saddens me. 

To assign attributes to such a broad spectrum is to say that no one is an individual. People are not all alike. Not all girls like pink. Not all boys like blue. Not all girls like dolls. Not all boys like action figures. 

Growing up, I hated pink, dolls and dresses. I wore my brother’s clothes and played with cars with him. I didn’t care about my hair or nails. I never wanted to play house with my friends. Hell, I didn’t even know what playing house was. 

As an adult, I like dresses and pale shades of pink. I like doing my hair, nails and makeup. I love wearing heels and being very “girly.” I am quite feminine. But I can be masculine, too. Sometimes I just don’t feel like doing my hair, and I want to lounge around in baggy clothes and drink beer with the guys. I am quite unattractive in that state, but I don’t care in the least.

I don’t think it’s weird for me to sometimes wear heels and other times wear boy’s shoes. No one else thinks it’s weird either. But god forbid a MAN ever want to feel pretty and wear a dress! That is just completely unacceptable. A man has to be just that- a man- no matter what he feels inside. In addition to this concept, it is also completely unacceptable for a woman to want to BE a man. She can dress like one (usually only if she’s pretty, though), but she cannot actually become one. 

People are just not that simple. 

Most people won’t even consider what it would be like to be the opposite sex. They won’t ask themselves “Is there a possibility that I might actually like being a man/woman?” No. If you ask someone that question, they will usually snap NO before their brain has even had time to process it. It’s just too outlandish of a concept. 

Personally, I enjoy being a woman. However, I could enjoy being a man, too. I am not afraid to say that. There are perks to being a woman and perks to being a man. I could enjoy being either. I’m content with being a woman, though, and would never consider a sex change because I don’t feel like I AM male.

Sophie IS female. She feels so strongly inside that she is a woman that she is willing to go through extensive procedures just to be comfortable in her own skin. 

Can you imagine looking in the mirror every day and just feeling sickened by your own reflection? I bet a lot of you can imagine that. Many people feel this way, for many different reasons. A lot of severely obese people are sickened by their reflections to the point that they become willing to undergo all sorts of procedures to lose weight. Society accepts that, though. But if they want a vagina instead of a penis, that’s not okay. There’s something wrong with that. 

 

I still cannot believe that sexual orientation is such a big issue in 2013. It is as big of an issue as interracial marriage once was. 

If two men kissing grosses you out, don’t gawk. Maybe a 70-year-old couple kissing grosses you out. What do you do then? Yell? Throw things? Degrade them? No… That would be horrible. They’re old. You can’t be rude to old people. But being rude to gay people is alright? 

Kids generally don’t want to see their parents kiss, but it happens and it’s not unacceptable. Interracial coupling is widely accepted now. Gays are becoming more accepted. Transgenders are next. 

I have never been able to understand why it is anyone’s business when two consenting adults become a couple. 

I myself am gay, for all intents and purposes. In reality, I just like people and it doesn’t matter what sex they are. I could be attracted to a man, but the likelihood of that happening is so minuscule that I just stick with saying that I’m gay. A man would probably have to be very feminine for me to be physically attracted to him. There are very feminine straight men, but I haven’t met many of them yet. 

 

Now, intercourse… If I were to talk about sex on my blog without holding back, I bet I would get a lot of judgement. I might find out, because I’m ready to stop holding back on anything on my blog. 

So many people judge someone for having sex. Or for not having sex! I was judged for being a virgin until I was 20. I was judged for who I had sex with. I was judged when I’d only had sex with two people. I would be judged for having sex with 20 people. It’s just a lose-lose situation. No matter what you do, if sex is the topic you are doing it wrong! 

I have no judgment in sex. If you’ve slept with 500 people, I don’t care. If you’ve slept with one person, I don’t care. If you’ve never had sex, I don’t care. If you’ve had sex with a man, I don’t care. If you’ve had sex with a woman, I don’t care. If you’ve had sex with several people at the same time while tied up and blindfolded, I don’t care. The only sexual activities that are my concern are my own. And my sexual activities shouldn’t be anyone else’s concern. 

The way I sometimes talk can make me sound like a slut, or a player. But the fact of the matter is, I’m quite inexperienced in sex and I have never cheated on anyone, nor would I ever. I lost my virginity to my friend Alex while I was dating someone else. I was in an open relationship. No one got hurt, cheated on or lied to. Everyone was in the loop, and I have never once felt bad about it. I am currently dating two women. I am not in a relationship with either of them. One of them is in an open relationship with another girl. The other one may or may not be seeing other people. It doesn’t really matter to me because she’s not my girlfriend. I have a friends with benefits relationship with two other women who are getting married soon (I’m sure our benefits will stop when they marry). 

In consenting adult relationships, I don’t think there is a single thing wrong with having sex or experimenting sexually. Everyone is different and our preferences are different. Some people only want the normal, traditional type of relationship. Others want the complete opposite. 

I have been in love, engaged and very ready and willing to settle down with that one person for the rest of my life. That would have been a dream come true, and someday I will fall in love again and plan my future that way. Right now, though, I am not in love and I am enjoying dating these women. They are friends before anything else. They will still be friends when we are no longer dating or having sex. I can easily be monogamous or polygamous. In the end, I know I’ll only love and want to be with one person. That won’t be until I am in love again, though. 

 

Okay, enough of that. I just had to vent some of my thoughts on sex. 

OCD

It’s gotten really hard for me to tell what is my OCD and what is something else. I decided to make a list here to hopefully figure some of it out.

So, here are some of my quirks. I’m sure a lot of them will seem really rude, but I need to be honest.

 

  1. It seems fitting that the first one should be my obsessive concern that I’ve said or done something wrong. Fitting because I have a feeling by the end of this list I will be regretting much of it and worrying. I’m fairly certain this is an OCD trait, because OCD has a lot to do with obsessive thoughts. This one is so bad for me that I still regret stupid things I said when I was a kid. 
  2. I cannot use cleaning rags because I throw them away. I have cats, so there is always cat fur when I’m cleaning things. As soon as there is some kind of hair on the rag, it becomes trash. I just don’t don’t know how to clean rags properly. Hair seems to stick to them eternally. Instead of spending a fortune on rags and throwing them away, I buy a certain kind of sponge for cleaning. This sponge is made of a material that doesn’t hold onto hair, so I can clean it. I bleach my sponges regularly. I have several of them for different things. I have some for the bathroom and some for the kitchen. I even have one just for the walls. I don’t know if this is OCD or just common sense.
  3. I have two closets. I have all my clothes arranged from summer to winter shirts, and pants in the smaller closet. I love my closets. They’re exceptionally organized. Maybe this comes from the fact that I never had an organized closet growing up. Closets were where you shoved everything that didn’t have a place when I was a kid. When my grandfather passed away, I bought a nice outfit to wear to his funeral because I didn’t own anything nice. I was living with my mother and there was nowhere for me to put the outfit where it would be safe, so I gave it to my mother. She put it in her closet, I think. When I was moving, I tried to find it. I opened her closet… that was a mistake. There was an avalanche of stuff and it was clear I would never see my outfit again. Those are the closets I’m used to, so mine are beautiful to me. I hang all of my clothes facing the same direction, right-side-out, perfectly organized. No one else is ever allowed to put my clothes away because they will do it wrong. This could be OCD…
  4. I don’t anyone rearranging anything in my home. Everything has its place and it makes me angry if someone changes that. This one is my OCD.
  5. I have routines which are very likely OCD. I eat certain foods together, or with specific utensils, or while watching certain shows. Some examples are: I always eat Chinese food with chopsticks. I can’t even fathom using a fork. I prefer chopsticks in general, though. They are like using your fingers without the mess. I eat bagel bites with extra cheese, garlic powder and parsley flakes while watching my “stupid shows” like The Simpsons or Family Guy. I always eat french bread and grapefruit. It doesn’t feel right to eat just french bread. I want my grapefruit with it.
  6. I can’t stand the smell of food unless I’m hungry. My mother bought me some sweet smelling candle-like stuff once. It smells like fresh baked cookies, and I hate it. I got rid of it. It’s nauseating. I only want to smell cookies when I’m about to eat them. Then I want the smell gone. I hate cooking in my house because it’s so hard to get rid of the smell when I’m done. I wash all the dishes and spray air freshener, but it lingers. It’s horrible. I don’t know if this is OCD.
  7. More routines or habits are pacing while I talk on the phone (I can’t sit still on the phone), drinking coffee whenever I blog (hence the name of my blog), and playing logic games on my phone while watching a movie or show. These could be OCD.
  8. Ever since I was a child I have separated my food. I used to take my cheeseburgers apart when my parents took me to McDonald’s. I would separate the whole thing and eat everything by itself. I would eat all of it, but not together. I’d eat the bun first, then pick the cheese off the burger, eat the pickles, then finally eat the burger. I still do this with a lot of foods. For the most part I will eat things all together, but there are times when I just don’t want to and I’ll pull it all apart and eat it separately. Probably OCD.
  9. I’m gay, and I absolutely hate it when men try to touch me. A guy at work always tries to hug me and I just want to kick him for it. Maybe it has to do with them wanting to date or sleep with me, though. My boss, who is a man, can hug me and I don’t mind. He’s like an uncle to me. That one guy at work is always trying to hook up with me, though, so that’s probably what it is. I doubt this one is OCD.
  10. I can’t stand people teasing me. It drives me crazy. I never give the expected reaction. I don’t even know what people expect from me when they tease me. I have no clue how to handle it at all. I generally force out fake laughter, which is not even remotely convincing, but that doesn’t seem to be the right reaction. Also probably not OCD.
  11. People talking to me about unimportant things annoys me. When my neighbors try to make small talk, it takes all of my willpower to be polite and not just walk away mid-sentence. People talking about important things can annoy me, too, though, if they don’t know what they’re talking about. Also probably not OCD, but my severely lacking social skills.
  12. If I get sick, I throw away most of my food. Anything that has been in my fridge for a while, even if it is still good, has to go. I also throw away tupperware containers if food has gone bad in them. I don’t feel like I can get plastic clean enough. I don’t even want to own anything plastic. Try finding a glass water bottle, though, that fits my strict criteria. No clue if this is OCD.
  13. I have panic attacks over anything that is too dirty. I haven’t had this problem since moving into my own place, though. It happened often in the hoarded house I lived in. I remember trying to clean and hyperventilating because it was just so frightening. Definitely hoarding-related OCD.
  14. I have to wear my headphones and listen to music at work because I can’t stand listening to most people. Some of them just have voices that rub me the wrong way, and others just have nothing valuable to say. Probably not OCD… I’m probably just a jerk.
  15. I can’t stand the way it feels to file my nails. I’ve been working on this and getting a little better. I can’t stand if I bend a nail, though. If my nail bends, I will cut it off. Even after cutting it off, I can still feel that horrible feeling, though. I think this is OCD on some level.

 

Okay, I think that’s enough for now.

HOARD

It’s that time again. Time to write about hoarding and its place/influence in my life.

 

I walk into my kitchen and start putting away the now dry dishes. Everything has its place; everything has a home. As fluidly as I brush my teeth in the morning, I spin around the kitchen placing things where they belong. It is second nature; I don’t even have to think about it. But I do think about it.

I stop for just a moment, look around at everything neatly organized in my kitchen, look down at the spatula in my hand and I know exactly where it goes. I know where it goes, and I know that it fits. I won’t have to jam or stuff anything into a place. Everything fits and everything is neat and organized. 

I have to think about it, because there was a time when I had to think about it for a different reason. Washing dishes, doing laundry, putting things away, etc., was a chore. Everything was a chore. It was all difficult because nothing had a place and even if it did, there was never enough room for it. OR, if there was room, you wouldn’t want to put it there anyway because, let’s face it, no sane person wants to put clean silverware in a drawer full of rodent feces. 

I have to think about it because I have to appreciate the mundane things that everyone else takes for granted. Those things are wonderful to me. 

I clean my bathroom sink every single day because the one I had before was falling through the floor and cleaning would collapse it. My sink here is pure white, perfectly clean and absolutely beautiful. It shines, literally shines. 

I move my furniture and sweep/vacuum and mop underneath and behind it because where I lived before, this feat was impossible. 

I sit on my couch because I never sat on the one where I came from. It was soaked with urine and the stench was overwhelming. 

I throw things away like old tupperware containers because no one can get mad if I do anymore. I donate old stuff to the thrift store because no one is telling me they’re saving it for something. 

I do these things now that I could not do before, and I appreciate them more than a normal person, because my mother is a hoarder and I didn’t have simple “luxuries” when I lived with her. 

I dance and spin and skip and run and jump through my entire house, because I have the space to do it. I walk through my house at night with the lights turned off because there is nothing in my way that I can run into and get hurt on. 

I invite people into my house. 

I tell people they can crash at my place, because I finally have somewhere for someone to sleep. I even have breakfast and coffee to offer them in the morning. I have guest pillows and blankets, and those have their own space, too! 

I’m 25 years old, and now I can finally have sleepovers like I wanted when I was a kid. Too bad I had to grow up in order to have a sleepover. 

I am doing all the things I couldn’t do before, and it’s a beautiful thing. 

 

Hoarding is so much more detrimental than some people realize. Even now, 150 miles away from my hoarder family, I am still affected. I would love to go visit my mother, but I can’t, because in two mobile homes and three campers, there is still nowhere for me to spend a night. I don’t want to sleep in her neighbor’s guest room. I wouldn’t be going there to visit them. 

I’m also still struggling with some OCD because of the hoarded conditions I used to live in. A friend came over a few weeks ago and cooked dinner in my kitchen. I did okay with that, but she also washed my dishes. When she put them away, she moved my butter knives over one space in the drawer. 

Even thinking about it now angers me. It’s not like I have a panic attack when things like this happen, but I get angry. It’s disrespectful to rearrange someone’s things, especially when everything is perfectly organized to begin with. It really bothered me. It was as though I couldn’t put the butter knives back in their place enough times to make it right. Classic OCD. I didn’t repeat the action multiple time, but it is still bothering me. They should never have been moved in the first place. 

I don’t look OCD. I don’t act OCD. No one knows I’m OCD. No one can tell. But I am, obviously. Everyone would know if I actually allowed it to show. I don’t let people see it, though. I didn’t say anything to my friend about the butter knives. 

 

Thank you for reading my long, boring rant about hoarding. I need to get it out of my system every once in a while.