Looks familiar.

 

I grew up with a compulsive hoarder. Mom filled our three-storey Swiss chalet with an astonishing array of junk. Whole rooms were rendered useless, stuffed from ceiling to floor with- well, stuff. Lots of it. Rocks, an inflatable dinosaur, and the remains of an artificial lemon tree. Putrid cosmetics stuff drawers thick with grime and dust. The sun room was ruined by literally hundreds of yogurt and margarine containers towering throughout. It’s not like we needed storage: the basement was a pantry, and Mom has three refrigerators.

 

Hoarding is considered a part of the Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder Spectrum. Pathological hoarders are often called packrats, and kindly neighbours dismiss their compulsions as dotty and eccentric. But recently compulsive hoarding has garnered a more serious consideration. A true pathological hoarder has a difficult time parting with objects, even old flyers or irreparable toys. The hoarder may search through the family’s garbage to be sure nothing is being thrown away that they ‘can use.’ A hoarder’s house gets so cluttered that normal activities are impossible: a bed is useless, for example, because it is covered in junk. The hoarder is unaware or unconcerned with the distress his family feels over living in a dumpsite.