I went on a job interview once. It was so embarrassing. I pretended I knew what I was talking about but I didn’t. They must have laughed at me.
You know when you’re so embarrassed that you just tuck it away inside of you and don’t want anyone to ever find out? Yeah. That.
I ran so far so fast and hoped that I would never see those people again. It kind of worked.
But how often can you do that? Tuck something away, try to hide it and run like the dickens? I picture myself running like Wallace and Grommit, hands waving overhead.
How often can you do that and survive? Keeping little pieces of yourself—memories, experiences—hidden because you are ashamed.
I complain about not feeling seen, but part of it is that I hide myself in all these little pockets inside. Like one of those guys selling watches out of his thousand-pocket coat.
A thousand little pockets. A memory, an experience in each one. A little pain, a little sadness, a little anger, holed up in each pouch. That can’t be good. Carrying it all around. And I’ve been doing it for a long time.
Don’t pretend like you don’t know. Don’t pretend like you don’t do it, too. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re a fortunate person who learned to process their emotions as they happen. I didn’t.
So now, I’m purging, trying to get all this stuff out. You have to milk it up. Ewww. Like squeezing stuffing up a sausage. Yeck. It comes out all black and tar. But then I feel better. That’s why I’m writing. To not feel ashamed.
I hope to not carry around buckets filled with gunk anymore. Who needs that?
I hope to be a happier person.
I hope to learn to do something different—instead of hiding emotions away like a hoarder with her rancid candy bars.
I hope I can get better.
I am getting better.
One day at a time.
No more stuffing. No more hoarding.
My name is Sarah and I’m an emotional hoarder.
I’ve been sober for….well, still working on it.