“You’re sick, you need help,” he screamed as he stormed off, the slamming door a slap across my face.
If you know that*, then why wont you help me. Why wont you stay. Instead you walk out. You leave me alone. Just like every body else. Everybody who I ever loved did just that. Like I don’t mean anything to them. No one needs me. I’m not worth staying for. Too much of a problem to love. If you love me, you wont say things like clear out the trash or I’ll clear myself out. I’m trying. Can’t you see that. But every time I pick something up, I freeze in panic. What if I need it some day and then it won’t be there. How can I get rid of these things? I need them.
Please. Please don’t leave me. Not you too. Come back. I swear I’ll clean up this place.
*Hoarding Disorder is a form of OCD, and can be quite debilitating, seriously and adversely affect the person’s health and social functioning.