I come from a family of hoarders, though it didn't set in with my parents until we finally bought our own house when I was 17. After that, it took several years for them to fill up almost every room, the attic, and the extra attic with boxes of stuff. My grandmother, bless her heart, lives in a small little house and while she keeps it clean, she hoards.
It's not as bad as, you know, that show, but it's bad enough.
In October 2008 I had a nervous breakdown (more on that later) and since then I've been in a limbo that would probably be diagnosed as depression if I would only get myself to pick up the phone and make an appointment to see somebody.
Since that time, little by little, stuff has been taking over my house.
Today I let Roi come over and help me start the process of hurling stuff out. And it's hard. It's hard to let him in on this process. Because the universal personal defect of codependents is that they like everyone else to be wrong so they can get some relief from their own self-hatred.
But even if I wasn't codependent and he wasn't an addict who I can't trust, it would still be hard because I'm embarrassed that I let depression take me this far down.