I love my spouse. But as the years passed, I became ever more frustrated with the number of boxes that moved with us. These were boxes that contained all manner of magazines and books and knick-knacks and junk mail.
"Honey," I would say, having identified a box that seemed full of particularly useless stuff. "Could you go through this box?"
"Do we have to do this now?" was the predictable response.
Over the years new boxes were added - boxes full of our own mail and papers, swept into boxes when company was coming over or we were clearing a room for a project. I knew nothing had been thrown away, but these items became lost in the mountain of unlabeled boxes shoved into rooms at random.
About a decade into our marriage, the possibility of ADD arose. The spouse began getting both therapeutic and medicinal help for this, but little changed.
Then came a session my spouse had asked me to attend (he expressed difficulty knowing whether the medication was making any difference). I was hot about the situation and told the doctor all about what life was like at home.
"Sounds like we may be dealing with OCHD." And the doctor proceeded to explain Obsessive Compulsive Hoarding Disorder.
Since the spouse was also apparently suffering from depression, an anti-depressant was prescribed and we went home.