I h
ad a friend I trusted enough to let them into my home during a period of depression/inactivity that has made my house not acceptable for having people over, generally. no parties brunches dinners gatherings, etc. Let the person in even during pandemic. Various things happened and we aren't close anymore. But here is one of the main things, for me:
They started to return to a topic repeatedly, that there are people who can help me clean, for money or exchange of services/barter.
I am sure they were trying to be helpful but it made me feel judged and bad.
I don't like strangers in my house. I don't like people touching my stuff. I don't like feeling judged and bad.
My brain doesn't work good, I don't have memories like other people seem to have. All I have is the occasional blip or flit of a memory that is triggered by an object in my home. I see a thing or pick it up and go "oh yeah, so and so gave that to me" and then I remember so and so and what they meant to me and something we did together, or something they said. It's patchwork bits and pieces. just like my house.
so..no, please don't tell me I need people I don't know to touch my brain and mess things up so I can't find them and can't remember anything anymore. This is all I have. I'm sorry it's dirty and messy and covered in dust. it's all I have
much belated sympathy, empathy, for my hoarder Great Depression survivor granny B. I don't want my house to look like that. And i don't think it does. It' s just not a 'showplace' . It's my space. It's my brain. It's my memory palace. I'm not going to let strangers in here, I'm not going to let people in here who are going to judge me and tell me I need to clean it.
This is something that's been simmering in my mind for awhile, I just needed to get it out. Sorry if it doesn't make sense.