Love and emptiness, they sometimes go hand in hand. This is about a different kind of love and a different source of emptiness. They didn’t belong in the same place. This doesn’t belong anywhere, it shouldn’t exist. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. However, it is here, it exists and I need to write about it. I need to document it for someone. Saying “someone”, doesn’t do that person justice, it is for THE person. The only person who matters. Someday he might need to know why. And this is why…

I am broken. It has been nine days since my world fell apart. My son was taken away to live with his father. I am a hoarder and the house had become partially unlivable. I say partially because I managed to maintain all the rooms bar my bedroom, the hallway outside my bedroom, and my sons bedroom was a mess – toys all over the floor. It is my fault that my son was made to move to his fathers house. It’s not just the house. I’m unwell physically and mentally. I have an undiagnosed bowel condition. The doctor occasionally tries to play it down as IBS. But I am in pain at least 80% of my life. 50% of that time it is excruciating pain, worse than being in labour. Much worse. So bad that at the time I wish I was dead. I quite often have feelings similar to suicidal-ness, but you must understand, I am not seriously suicidal often – and I would NEVER leave my son on this earth alone without me. I love my son more than anything else in the world and I’ve been dealing with the aforementioned pain, living through it, managing my sons routine often whilst doubled over, where some people might have been in hospital, I’ve carried on, so that I could be there for my son. He’s had to see me in pain, but we had the morning routine, the evening routine… Playtime and fun, playdates and outings. I’ve been carrying on as best as I could. All of that is over now.

I’m emotionally hurting, right now, so what I say might not come out right. But I feel I need to document what’s happening. My sons life has just been upheaved – I know it’s my fault, and I know that one day he might hate me for what’s happening right now. So one day I want him to know that as much as I may have hurt him because of this, I want him to know how much I love him. I want him to know that this isn’t what I wanted. I never wanted to be a disappointment. I never wanted to be so incompetent. I don’t want to be a hoarder. Some people must think: If you loved your son you’d just tidy up. I wish I could “just” tidy up. But I don’t live like this because I want to! Nobody would choose this. If it was as easy as people say, if it was just a case of not being messy, I would have no problem. If it was as easy as that, I wouldn’t be in this situation. This hoarding problem has been a disgusting weight holding me down and chained to me for as long as it started getting really bad. When I lived with my sons father I had him around to throw things away and keep the house in check – he thought I was messy and lazy… it was one of our biggest relationship problems. Maybe if I was just messy and lazy this wouldn’t be such a big problem. Maybe things would be a lot easier.

Please don’t ever think for one second that I don’t know that this is all my own fault. But I can’t breathe without my son here. He wasn’t living in squalor, by the way, the main part of the house where my son and I spent all our time – sure, it isn’t pristine, but it’s acceptable by most people’s standards. Without my son here, it’s quiet. I can hear his laughter echoing in each empty room as I walk in. Everywhere I look, a constant reminder of my gorgeous little man. I’ve seen him for a couple of hours at least every day, outside of the home, since he’s been gone and I’m incredibly grateful for that. But when I come home, when I’m alone again, my heart continues to break further. Missing my son, it’s painful. The emotional pain is physical. I’m used to physical pain and I’m no wimp, but this is unbearable. I try to keep myself busy – cleaning the house, going for walks, talking to my friends, watching films. Anything that might stop me crying. I’m not wallowing in self-pity. I know this is all my own fault. But I need some help. I didn’t get this way because I’m mentally healthy and normal. I didn’t get this way because I’m just lazy. I am so sorry for everything I’ve caused. My son was a very happy and healthy little boy and I’ve caused him to be torn from his happy home and everything he knows. Thank goodness he has a good father. He loves his dad and sometimes stays overnight at his dad’s house, so thank goodness he’s not somewhere totally unknown. But I know he misses me. He misses his house – his home. It breaks my heart even more knowing that.

I am going to get better. I’m going to do everything I can to change. I’ve got a referral to the adult mental health team for my mental issues, and to the gastro clinic for my stomach, from my GP. I’ll listen and I’ll do whatever they say will help me get better. I’ll do anything it takes to get my son back. I’m going to start writing again. One of the things that helped me when I was younger was writing, and hopefully one day I can show my son what I was going through, and hopefully, if he’s in any doubt at all, he’ll be able to see how much I love him.