Writingbolt's Creation

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Where to begin?  After all…my last post said this was or may be the end…of me.

I fear the end is near.  And, the past few days have been utter torture.  Every day a new batch of caustic solution is cast upon my emotional and financial wounds…if not also my mental and physical health.

Let me count the ways:

@ My home gets flooded, moldy and all occupants are forced to evacuate the biohazard.

@ My basement collections, including valuables and artwork….let’s just say a ton was ruined by the flood.

@ My family hirers movers to help move stuff to a truck to ship to a storage facility.  And, they spend more time putting stuff in garbage bags than loading anything.  As far as I recall, my sis, brother-in-law and I did most if not all of the loading.  And, my helpers were not the least bit concerned about what happened to what we loaded.  They had no emotional attachment.  All they saw was a clock and wanted to get done fast.  So, they threw stuff in the truck.  And, some fell out…getting damaged.  Why am I paying for storage if you’re going to damage what goes into it?

@ Weather is the worst.  Hot.  Muggy.  Every step you take draws another bucket of sweat from your face.  So lifting one box is a pain.  Lifting three is murder.  But, more rain is on the way; so you’d better get moving.

@ Brother helps by working with the movers.  He throws $800 of valuables on the ground, claiming it was in a wet box.  I highly doubt that.  But, I don’t doubt the collection is now worth about $600 or less.  His assistants fail to bring up stuff I am sure was safe and dry and worth a small fortune.  I suspect that went into garbage bags before going with the movers.  Thieves with cellphones who can look up the value of what they are moving and walk past stupid family members.

@ Brother offers to help move stuff as I myself move stuff upstairs, struggling with the poor air quality.  He drops my most precious handful in the sewage.

@ When I convince myself I need to just walk away and trash a bunch, family tries telling me to wash it off and salvage it, even if mint condition boxes are lost.  If I stop to wash things, they tell me I need to move quicker and load a truck, instead.  If I load the truck, they tell me to take care of the wet stuff coating the lawn.  There is no win.  And, everyone is clashing with each other.  It’s an ugly scene.

@ Sisters say they are on my side and supporting me, but their patience quickly thin, and I am feeling threatened with ultimatums…fearing they will put me in a group home when I totally lose my mind from this disaster.

@ I thoroughly regret ever getting involved with collecting and will surely never collect so foolishly again.  Nor will I be able to ever truly love my family.  They have earned my hate.