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Hoarding

None of those thoughts ever made me realize that it was the people, friends, family –loved ones –that made empty objects seem like they held more significance than they deserved.

The way I see it, every object you own is connected to you by a string like the house in ‘Up,’ and each string is tied to a fishhook embedded in your abdomen.

You notice it the minute you walk into my apartment. Who am I kidding, you can smell it before you even get to the door. The neighborhood kids gossip about it, my friends have given up on seeing me, and my family has all but disowned me. It’s a problem I’ve kept hidden for months and have never quite been able to admit. But it’s become far too obvious to ignore, and it’s time to stop hiding. I am a hoarder, and what I hoard is episodes of the TV show Hoarders.

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