So last night I had yet another dream. The 23rd in the past year.
They never are bad. It's almost never about going to the house and seeing it in a state of pure disrepair. The only one that didn't have any positive elements was a recent one where there were seven televisions in a room and no talk of cleanup.
This one was about the whole house, but I remember the garage the most. For some reason in the dream the garage was larger, able to accommodate three cars. And that's just what was in there--three cars, including a new one he collected.
So in the dream I had mixed feelings. He collected the car, but the garage looked very nice. So in the end it was OK.
And everything in the rest of the house was like how it usually is in the dreams--on the verge of being totally cleaned up. Not quite there, but nearly. And I go through the house happy about it.
And then I wake up and realize it is not true. That's what I hate about it. That's the taxing part. That and the fact that it's just too many dreams.
No, I cannot see someone for counseling about it right now. I know that is what some of you might be thinking. I am currently a postulant in a Catholic novitiate working to become a religious brother. They already see I am under stress for this. If they learn I am having dreams they themselves might say I need a counselor, and they would stop the program for me. And what does that do for me, at 46 years of age? Sends me up the river without a paddle, that's what. My entire life plan would be ruined. So no thanks on the official counseling. I can talk to friends, call up the spiritual advisor who was affiliated with my mother's hospice program, etc. for that.
Like I said, the dreams aren't bad. I just wish they were reality.
Hoarders, are you reading this? Did you ever think that what you do can impact the mental health of your loved ones and disturb their sleep, even if they aren't living with you? How much is it worth in your minds to collect all that you do if it impacts the mental health of your loved ones?
Why do you live like you do, under conditions not fit for human habitation? How can you live for years like this? Why does it take years for something to be cleaned up when it could be done with professional assistance in a matter of days? And why, when it is cleaned up, does it so often go back to the mess that was before?
Sorry if there is a tinge of anger in those questions, but I honestly would like to understand. Perhaps if I just understood then maybe I could gain a tiny bit of peace with this. Why is a room filled with stuff better than one that is cleaned? Why is disorder and inaction better than action leading to order? Why did I once see a six foot tall inflatable punching bag in my brother's shower? Why were wooden chairs put upside down in a pile in the backyard in order to stop dogs from digging under a fence when sandbags could be bought? Why was a couch suspended in midair, sandwiched between our house and fence, on the side of the house for everybody passing by to see for days? And why is a classic fixer upper car purchased for a few hundred bucks, with dreams of restoring it, only to have it hoarded up the wazoo and made to look like the car of a homeless person?
I suppose I sound like a really nagging person with these posts. Hoarders might hate to have me as a brother. Maybe at times that is true. But in reality I'm not this way. Boards like this can exist for us to get out the frustrations we don't share with people in reality.
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