Buried Alive

During one of the several discussions between Landon and I where I'm trying to describe my thoughts and feelings, I started to describe to the best of my ability using the analogy of "hoarding". After the talk I realized that this is probably the most accurate description of my life, my soul, my mind, my ME. My life force, my essence, my whatever I am, is a hoarder. I keep piling shit on, more and more and more and more. More shit on top of shit. I don't want to clean it, I don't want to organize it, I don't want to stop piling shit on. I like the shit. I'm attached to the shit. Its MINE. Don't fuck with it. Don't move something from where it is to somewhere else. I like where it is. I'm comfortable in my chaotic mess. I like to just sit in the middle of it and look around. I like noticing something I haven't in a long time and remembering the way it made me feel. I like smelling something and all of a sudden my mind is flooded with memories. I like my hoarded out basement.

HOWEVER
I know that this is unhealthy. I've seen the shows where these people are living in a pile of filth, and its gotten so bad that their family and friends have all left until they get some help. I know that I need to overhaul my life. I need to overhaul my hoarded brain. I don't want to though. I'm scared. I want to keep my stuff. I want to keep adding more stuff. I want to suffocate in my stuff, mentally surrounded by everything I love. I want to be a mental hoarder forever. I'm terrified of therapy. I'm terrified of cleaning my mind. I want peace so bad yet I refuse to give up any of my shit for it. I don't want to be empty. I don't want any more holes.