A closet of memories

Today I realized I have a soft heart and a hard time letting go… of everything, really.  A state of OCD kicked in earlier this morning and I began color coordinating my closet—yes, I just admitted that.  Summer classes finally wrapped last week and rather than go out with my girls one more day and blow some more cash, I opted to stay home and take on a few projects, the overflowing closet being one of them. 

As I piled heaps of clothing onto my bed— minis, maxis, barely-theres (you name it, I own it)—I realized I’m a closet hoarder.  I hoard jewelry, handbags (my ultimate fav), shoes, clothing (for me and the Pomeranian) and emotions.  Unable to fit any additional hangers into my closet, I knew it was time to start a giveaway pile, but I just couldn’t.  Something wouldn’t let me—that something being my memory.

I’m uber sensitive.  I have in my possession every Cabbage Patch doll and Barbie I’ve ever owned since birth and my coveted Louis Vuitton and Prada bags?  Not going anywhere, thank you very much.  My heart creates emotional ties to, well, pretty much everything.  That slinky black tank top from Wet Seal I bought during my senior year of high school?  I can’t possibly give that away because I danced at one of my first concerts while wearing the sexy little number.  Oh, and that white mini dress from Express?  Well, that can’t go either—I wore it to my high school graduation.  And then there’s the pink and black tube dress I wore to my first Valentine’s Day dinner with my ex… and those Halston stilettos I donned for my birthday.  The list goes on and on, a vivid memory fused with every item I own. 

Besides the fact that I scream like a toddler when encountering a bug lingering around my house, I can’t bring myself to take murder into my own hands.  Like a cartoon episode, I always picture those little creatures pulling out a pocketbook photo album of all their children and pleading for their lives.  I am extremely empathetic; I love with my soul and watch the world through my heart.  I grow attachment to inanimate objects. My name is Jordan and I’m an emotional mess.

“I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.” —Sex & the City

But some small part of me is OK with the fact that I open my heart to the world.  While it may expose my life to the possibility of pain and grief, it also brings with it the chance at experiencing amazing opportunities and building lasting relationships.  With the undertaking of the massive project “Hoarders: Jordan’s emotional closet,” I stumbled upon something I have been craving: acceptance.  I will always be the girl who trips over thin air, attracts food stains on her pristine white jeans and flirts with Love shamelessly.  I will forever care too much and view the world through a sensitive, open heart.  I will never stop believing in fairy tales and will always play dress-up, no matter how old I am.  And I will always carry memories wherever I go.  I am the girl who wears her heart (and memories) on her sleeve… and I’m OK with that.

Can you spot the Pom?


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