The psychology of clutter, hoarding, domesticity and the meaning and the context of its existence.

This is my mind manifested, its much like a bunch of tangle wires. You ask, where does it begin? What does it mean? how does it all connect? Why do we opt out of empty spaces? Why do we opt into full spaces? what does fullness mean? What does emptiness mean? Why do we collect? The questions may seem infinite, because in truth, if we really wanted to, we could relate seemingly unreliable things after a length in between period, if need be.

How many people have touched this empty space, how many contexts have collied, formed and merged because of this space?

Its neither tireless, nor reaching when I relate this back to childhood, that is the mother root to everything, the beginning.

Personality traits are amongst many other things that are inherited. My earliest recollection of collecting was when I started writing. consciously there was never a link between my collecting and my fathers doing so. Until my mother, extremely agitated would say ” waaxan aabo haada wayey”. In a cycle I would find myself at the other end at disorder, and my mother on the opposite end of that spectrum, she finds herself in order. I have in the past summerised it simply by saying this is ‘how my mind looks like’, that’s seemed more fitting than ‘I find comfort in this’. That would complicate things, not really shed any light on the complexities of it all. Do I find comfort in the disorder? I couldn’t answer that with a unanimous yes, it would be ‘yes, but…’. Yes but, it always ends up feeling like I’ve built a cave around me, a physical barrier.

The act of taking objects out of one space and putting in another space, as oppose to throwing things away. Is the act of keeping them a sentimental one, or does it speak to deeper psychological issues of burying things, putting things away from line of sight, the non-confrontational?



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