A/N: As soon as the episode "Insheeption" ended, I knew I had to write this. Stan cleaning out his locker bothered me; it is not that easy for a hoarder to give up his stuff. So what if he never did get over the hoarding? What if it returned, creating more problems than before?
ONE MAN'S TRASH…
Friday, October 22nd, 2010
2:55 PM. The clock was ticking its way to 3:00 which meant school would finally be over. But it meant far more to Stan Marsh. He had something very important to do right when the bell rang. It was so huge, so meaningful; it had been on his mind since the morning. That morning when he made a huge discussion in his life, which he was now regretting. So he bit his lip, drumming his fingers on his desks impatiently while Mr. Garrison explained the homework to the class.
"You will make sure you finish your 'If I were in charge of the world' poems over the weekend and have them ready to be read in front of the class Monday, or else!" he threatened.
2:58…
"C'mon…" Stan murmured, watching the minute hand.
"And no you may not use the one in your books! I already answered that Eric!"
Five…four…three…two…one…
BRRRING!
Stan leapt out his desk and hurried out the door, Kyle right at his heels.
"Dude, dude! What's your hurry?"
"I- have something I need to do," Stan said, looking around.
"What?"
"Nothing, just- don't worry about me."
"Are you going to come to my house after school or not?"
"I am. I just- have to talk to Mr. Garrison."
Kyle blinked. "If you had to why did you run out of class?"
Stan opened his mouth, thinking for a half second before answering, "I wanted to make sure the room was empty before I talked to him."
Kyle still looked suspicious.
"Look dude, I'm fine, I just have a question to ask him. Don't worry; I'll be at your house soon. I might stop at mine first so I can drop off my backpack but don't worry."
Sighing, Kyle left with Kenny in toe. Stan made sure his friends were out of sight before racing down the halls to where his locker was and over to the trashcan that was across from it. Making sure the halls were empty, he dug around inside it, frantically moving aside lunch trays and papers and whatnot before his hand finally found it- the handle of a trash bag. He pulled it out and opened it. Inside was junk, and plenty of it. He moved things aside and smiled in satisfaction when he found his moldy old sandwich, broken toothbrush, homework from second grade, a few soda cans- everything. All his stuff was intact. How stupid was he to have thrown this out that morning? What was he thinking? As soon as he went to Mr. Garrison's class after throwing everything away, he knew he had made the wrong decision. He knew he needed his stuff back, and the whole day he didn't think of anything but how to get it back without anyone knowing. But now he had it, and he could store it all in his bedroom, safe from anyone. He lugged the trash bag over his shoulder and hurried home.
Four years later…
April had begun and this usually meant one thing to Sharon Marsh- spring cleaning. All major holidays were over, it was time to round up her family and have everyone work together to make the house look like new again. She had already taken out all cleaning supplies and trash bags so that when her kids got home from school, they knew immediately what they would be doing for the rest of the day. She passed by her son's room before sighing and opening it up- or tried to anyway. She pushed with more force and saw that behind his door was a pile of clothes. She plugged her nose; they had been sitting there for who knew how long.
That wasn't the only thing littering the floor- you name it, it was there. Books, a hundred CDs, video games, baseball cards, soda cans, even a pizza box sat waiting to be thrown out. His bed was a mess; blankets tousled carelessly, cat toys about it from his two cats, and his science book. On his desk were a large pile of magazines, at least thirty pens and pencils, and a stack of papers; on another shelf were all his books, his 'collection' of drink bottles, his 'collection' of cool-looking rocks, and collection of Batman toys. On his wall sat three baseball bats, both his acoustic and electric guitar and speaker, and a broken chair. Last but defiantly not least, an open can of wet cat food, with food still inside, on his desk chair. Of course there were things crammed into his closet, but Sharon didn't even want to go there. No, today would be the day she would be able to walk into her son's bedroom without tripping over something.
The sound of the front door slamming open cracked her thoughts. Yelling was soon heard. Sharon went downstairs to see her kids in the kitchen fighting over the milk carton.
"I had it first!" Stan cried.
"I'm older so I get it first," Shelley teased.
"Goddamnit give it to me!"
Shelley poured herself a glass of milk before shoving the carton in her little brother's chest. She then took the plate of cookies into the dining room. After Stan poured himself milk Shelley began to push him back every time he tried to reach for a cookie.
"I'm hungry too you bitch!" Stan cried.
"Stanley!" Sharon scolded.
Stan looked over to see his mom standing there. "Mom! She's hogging all the cookies!"
"Oh, but it's okay when you do it?" Shelley bit.
"I never hog anything!"
"What about the bag of M&Ms last night?"
"Mooom!"
"Shelley just let your brother have some cookies, my goodness," Sharon said exasperated.
Sharon watched as her son grabbed his after-school snack, or, tried to at least. She watched as he looked at the plate of sugar cookies, trying to decide which one to eat first. He picked one up before setting it down and picking up another, before setting that one down too.
"Just grab one!" Shelley snapped.
"I need to get the right one!"
"They're all the same you idiot!"
"No they aren't!" Stan growled before moving the cookies around again. He finally settled on one and dunked it in his milk. Sharon frowned; she had been noticing her son doing things like this for a while now. She didn't think it was anything to worry over but it was odd to see him fuss over certain decisions no matter how small they were. Simple things like the meatballs in his spaghetti had become a chore for they all had to be set a certain way.
As her kids began to relax into their snack, Sharon decided it was best to break the ice.
"Kids, did you notice anything by the door when you walked in?"
Her son and daughter looked over.
"No," Stan shrugged.
"I put out all the cleaning supplies. Today we are going to do our yearly spring clean-up."
Her kids gaped at each other like this was the worst news in the world before turning to her.
"Awww! Mom! The house doesn't need cleaning!" Shelley argued.
"Yeah Mom, the house looks fine!" Stan added.
"It is so. The garage is still piled with all our winter things and there are still Valentine's Day decorations that need to be put away in the basement. Don't get me started on your bedrooms…" Sharon crossed her arms.
"I can clean that up in ten minutes," Shelley said simply.
"Yeah, mine isn't even messy," Stan said.
His mother and sister laughed at this.
"I couldn't even open the door earlier because there was dirty laundry blocking it!" Sharon told him.
"I was going to put it in the hamper…"
"Can you even find your hamper in that disaster of a bedroom?" Shelley chuckled.
"Shut-up!"
"Kids!" Sharon snapped. "Now come on, this whole family is going to spend the day cleaning. As soon as your father gets home he's going to help to."
"I have homework," Shelley said.
"I have to practice my guitar," Stan told his mom.
"That can wait. Before anything, I want you two to clean your rooms. And you will do it or there will be consequences. Now finish up your snack and begin the cleaning."
With that, she went off upstairs. Stan went to his room and threw his backpack on his bed without a care. He heard meowing and smiled when his gray tabby Basha walked into his room and onto his bed. His mother poked her head in.
"Are you starting on your room yet Stan?"
"In a minute."
"In a minute usually means in an hour so do it now."
Stan groaned.
"You can listen to music but you have to start on this mess."
"Fine, fine," Stan rolled his eyes.
Thirty minutes had passed. Sharon opened the door to Stan's room again to find him on his computer.
"Stanley…" she sighed.
"In a minute!" he said impatiently.
She sighed. "I know how hard it is for you to clean, so do you mind if I pitch in?"
His heard turned. "What?"
"Let me help you clean. It will go by much faster if I do."
"You never help me clean."
"Well I am today. I want your room clear that badly."
Stan cast his eyes down, thinking.
"C'mon, I have a trash bag ready, let's get started," Sharon smiled, holding it up.
Stan's eyes grew wide. "Whoa wait- you just said clean. You didn't say anything about throwing things away."
"Well… well look at this place. Surly there are some things that should be thrown out?"
"I- I guess. But"-
"Then let's get started. I'll let you play whatever music you want."
Biting his lip, Stan finally gave in and put in a CD in his CD player and hit 'play'. Avenged Sevenfold soon began blaring in the room. Sharon approached his desk.
"How about we throw out these soda cans, hm?"
"But… but why? I mean, not all of them right?"
"They're empty," Sharon pointed out.
"Yeah but don't throw them out. They can be recycled."
"Okay, then let's put them in a special bag to take out to the recycling center," Sharon smiled.
She came back up with a plastic bag and began putting them in. Stan watched her almost fearfully.
"You're- you're just going to take it to the recycling center right?"
"You can do it if you want and get money back. It's your mess," she shrugged.
Stan bit his lip before taking out some cans.
"What are you doing sweetie?"
"I want to keep the Sprite cans."
"Why?"
"Sprite's my favorite soda. I want to start a collection with Sprite cans and stuff."
"Not another collection," Sharon sighed. "You already have ten other 'collections' in the works."
"But it will be the coolest one yet. I mean how many people have a collection of their favorite soda?" Stan smiled.
Sharon was tempted to say no normal person did, but refrained. "Maybe you can start on that another time hon."
"But I already have six cans and three bottles in my room. I can start today!"
"Stan, please."
"I'll keep it in the basement so it's out of the way." Before she could say another word, Stan took hold of his Sprite bottles and cans and went downstairs. He came back up a few minutes later.
Sharon took hold of the pizza box and was thankfully able to toss it without an outcry from Stan. When she moved to his pile of magazines however he stopped her.
"What are you doing?" he cried.
"Throwing out"-
"Not those! I need those!"
"Stanley"-
"You can't throw them out, you just can't. I need all of them." He put his arms around them protectively.
"Why do you need two copies of the same magazine?" Sharon held up two copies of last month's Sports Illustrated.
"I was going to give one to James," he said, speaking of one of his friends.
"Then why haven't you yet?"
"He- well I wanted to give it to him for his birthday."
"That's weeks away. Can't you just give it to him now?"
"No! Just- just don't touch them. I'll throw them out later," Stan fumbled.
The cleanup of his bedroom did not go any smoother. While he was able to clear his bed of cat toys and such, he could not do much else. Sharon went from being sympathetic to being annoyed at his behavior. He became hysterical when she threw all the rocks from his shelf into the bag.
"Stanley Marsh, I am sick and tired of you holding onto useless processions! I am throwing these stupid rocks out once and for all!"
"No! No Mom, please! I need them!"
He began to shake, his eyes were wide as if he were to have a panic attack so Sharon finally handed them back to him and he calmed down. She put her arms on his.
"Stanley, sweetie, I'm getting worried. You have so many things in your room, it's not good," she frowned.
Stan glanced up at her worried expression, fear still in his eyes.
"Sweetie, you know what happened a few years ago. Remember? You were classified as a Level lll hoarder. Baby, look at me. Remember?" she forced his chin up.
"I just don't want you to throw these rocks out Mom…" he said softly.
"Can I throw out your bottles then?"
"No, I wanna keep those."
"Can I throw out all your Batman toys?"
"No! That was my first collection!"
Sharon sighed. "See honey? This is what I'm talking about. I'm getting worried."
"I can clean up my room myself…" Stan said, avoiding her look.
"Can you really Stan?"
He nodded vigorously. "I promise I will. I'll- I'll clean it up, it'll look better in an hour, promise."
She sighed. "Fine, whatever. Do what you want. I give up."
"Mom!" Stan cried. He hardly ever heard his mother speak of giving up on him so that stung badly.
Sharon just shut the door behind her. Stan stood there, feeling lost. He looked at his rocks. He was tempted to just keep them in the trash bag but couldn't. He couldn't just throw out that cool sharp one, or that really smooth round one. What about the jagged one that glittered in the light? No, he needed them. But he didn't want to disappoint his mother. I give up. She said she gave up on him. About a clean room. It was ridiculous. If she never gave up on him when he had a fit about learning cursive writing in fourth grade or that huge project about volcanoes two months ago, she shouldn't be able to give up on this. He put in another CD and went to work.
Sharon decided to give her son the benefit of a doubt and an hour later she went back to his room.
"Look Mom!" he said happily.
She looked around. All the clothes had been put away and his bed was made up, and his CDs and video games were in a tall pile, but the room was still crammed with stuff. Sure the floor was at least clear and she could see the blue carpet after so many months, but things were still stacked on the walls and desk and shelves. She could see the collection of forty rocks on his cabinet shelf and all his magazines still sat on his desk. In her opinion it was hardly an improvement. But she cast her eyes on her son and saw how happy he looked, smiling proudly at his achievement.
"Well?" he waited.
Sharon forced a smile and kissed his cheek. "It looks better, thanks sweetie."
Sharon sat in bed with a book in her hand that night as her husband got ready for bed.
"Randy?"
"Hm?" he took off his pants, ready to go to bed in his underwear as usual.
"Have you noticed anything… different about Stan lately?"
Randy thought. "New coat?"
"No Randy."
Randy ventured a second guess. "New color for his elastics?"
"I'm not talking about his braces either. I'm not talking about his appearance at all."
Randy got into bed. "What then?"
"I'm talking about his behavior. I think he's been acting very…peculiar lately," Sharon trailed.
"How so? Has he gotten in trouble or something?"
"No. he's getting along fine with his friends and teachers as far as I know, and is doing okay grade-wise. But something is just different about him."
Randy clicked off his table lamp. "I don't know Sharon, seems the same to me."
Sharon sighed as she set down her book. "Didn't you find it odd how long it took him to choose a dish of pudding for dessert tonight?"
"Not really. He's been doing that for years."
"Maybe, but not for that long. It never used to take two minutes to pick out the right 'anything' when he was eight. And have you walked into his room lately? Don't you find it strange how many 'collections' he has now?"
Randy thought for a moment. "I don't think it means anything Sharon. So the kid likes to collect things. Everyone does."
"Does everyone own ten different collections?"
"Well uh, maybe not everyone…"
"He has from what I remember: a collection of baseball cards, a collection of rocks, a collection of bottles, a collection of magazines, a collection of Batman toys, a collection of socks, and a collection of pens and pencils. Get this: just today when trying to clean his room, he told me he wanted to start a collection of Sprite cans and bottles! He has nine sitting in the basement right now, waiting for it to grow!" Sharon exclaimed.
This caught her husband's attention. "Sprite? Really? Why the hell would he want to keep Sprite cans?"
"According to him, he thinks it would be really cool to have a collection of things related to his favorite soda," Sharon rolled her eyes.
"But that's ridiculous. A pile of soda cans lying about? What value is that?" Randy asked wildly.
"That is exactly what I've been trying to tell you! It has no value! None of his collections do. The only thing of any kind of value might be his baseball cards and Batman toys. Everything else is just…"
"Junk?" Randy finished.
Sharon set aside her book on her nightstand now. "What are we going to do Randy?"
"About what?"
"I'm starting to get the feeling Stan's hoarding problems are returning."
Randy sighed dramatically as he got under the covers. "C'mon Sharon, that was four years ago. He's been fine then. His locker has been clear since then."
"While his room has gotten messier since then," Sharon added. "And the only locker he has now is for gym."
Randy was on his side now trying to sleep. "Stan's fine honey, just go to bed."
"I think he may have a form of OCD," Sharon continued, still sitting up.
Randy groaned. "You always fret over him."
"I'm usually always right too. I've been reading up on hoarding and OCD for a while now. Stanley defiantly shows signs he may have it, or both. Well, we already know he was a hoarder years ago but"-
"Can I go to sleep or are you going to ramble on?"
Sharon glared at him. "Sorry I care about my son."
"Hey, he's my son too!"
"By blood but you hardly ever take over discipline, doctor appointments, school work, anything. And when you do take over those things, you get overdramatic and unrealistic about them! And don't get me started on how extremely unsupportive you are of him wanting to try out for baseball next year!" Sharon snapped. She stood up. "I'm going downstairs to think. I'll be back up sometime."
One week later Sharon sat in the waiting room of a physiatrist's office. She mindlessly flipped a magazine as she wiggled her leg nervously. She wasn't overreacting; she had every right to worry for her son.
"Mrs. Marsh?" smiled a woman named Dr. Bentley at the other end of the room.
Sharon gratefully shook hands with the woman who was slightly younger than her.
"Thank-you so much for allowing me to see you."
"Of course, why don't we talk about things in my office?"
Sharon took a seat behind the doctor's desk.
"What seems to be the problem Mrs. Marsh?" asked Dr. Bentley.
Sharon sighed. "I'm worried about my son. You see, I'm beginning to suspect that he's acting out of control. I think he may be hoarding. And that's not it, I'm really beginning to suspect that he may have some symptoms of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and"-
"Oh, OCD?"
"Yes. For a while now he's been doing things I cannot remember him doing when he was younger. He has problems making even the simplest decisions, he's unorganized, he's also begun to have rituals before he goes to sleep," tears filled Sharon's eyes.
"I understand that he was diagnosed as a hoarder four years ago?"
"Yes. He- he did go to a regression therapy session for it when he was nine and I was sure it worked. The therapy itself was a bit of a bust but the day after he cleaned out his locker and threw out all the junk he had in it. At least that's what he told me. But I think it's returning and is worse than ever."
Dr. Bentley nodded. "What makes you think he is hoarding?"
Sharon sighed. "His room is always a mess. He never wants to clean it. Even the mere suggestion of throwing out a ripped up folder freaks him out. He's also begun to… collect useless things."
"What things are these?" Dr. Bentley poised.
"Oh, everything. Rocks, baseball cards, bottles. And just a week ago, he started to collect Sprite cans."
"Hm… apart from baseball cards the others are definitely defined as invaluable."
"I know. But I don't know what to do, my husband thinks I'm overreacting but I just know something is wrong with my Stanley," Sharon sniffed.
"Let's talk about his possibility of having OCD first. You mention he's been doing rituals before he goes to bed? Can you explain to me what those are?"
Sharon sighed. "First, he has to get ready for bed at exactly 10:30. He says it's an even number so getting ready one minute before or after won't 'feel right' because it will be on an odd number. He can spend a good two minutes debating over which pair of pajamas he should wear that night before going to the bathroom. There he has to spend exactly two minutes brushing his teeth for the same reason that a minute less or more won't 'feel right' because it will be on an odd number. Just a month ago he began to- to- to count his teeth every night after he brushes them. I asked him why and he told me he had a nightmare last month that he lost all his teeth after some monster-type thing was chasing after him," she sniffed before continuing. "Since then he has to make sure he isn't missing any teeth. After he's done in the bathroom he has to count his stack of magazines on his desk to make sure none are missing before finally going to bed."
"And that is his routine?" Dr. Bentley asked.
Sharon nodded. "To an extent but it usually follows in this pattern."
Dr. Bentley was writing something down. "This is definitely odd behavior in a typical child. How old is he?"
"He's thirteen."
"You tell me he's been counting his teeth for a month. How long have these other rituals gone on for?"
Sharon thought. "I'd say… six months at least."
"Does he have any other routines?"
"Not that I know of. I mean, none that any other boy his age has."
The doctor nodded. "What other behavior does your son show that makes you think he has a form of OCD?"
"He likes when things are in even numbers. If something comes in odds, he doesn't want any part of it. If he gets a scoop of M&Ms let's say, he has to count to make sure he has an even number of the candy in his hand before eating them."
"Does he have an obsession about keeping things clean and sanitary?"
Sharon paused. "Not that I know of. He showers and brushes his teeth any normal length of time expected for a pre-teen although he does time himself with both. Once in a great while he'll spend over a minute washing his hands but not usually. As long as his nails are clean that's all he cares about. He says repeated washing makes his skin too rough and it might cause problems when he's pitching a baseball or strumming his guitar."
"All right, anything else?"
"Everything has to be his way. Nobody can unload the dishwasher but him because they put the dishes back 'in the wrong order.' They set the table the 'wrong way'. They stir the cake batter the 'wrong direction'. He spends exactly sixteen minutes in the shower. It's even freaking his friends out," Sharon gushed.
Dr. Bentley touched her hand. "It's okay Mrs. Marsh; Stanley isn't the only child with this behavior. We can help him with this."
"I don't know why he's doing it; I don't know how it started. Although… I can remember one time, when he was nine, before he was diagnosed as a hoarder, he did behave rather odd…"
"Do you feel comfortable explaining to me what that was?" Dr. Bentley poised.
Sharon sniffed but nodded. "It was a normal night, and I was going to begin dinner…"
Four years ago…
Sharon poked her head in the living room to see her children watching a show on Animal Planet called Animal Cops Houston. Stan looked truly engaged in it, Shelley however looked positively bored.
"Kids, do either of you want to help with dinner?" she asked.
Stan looked over with a smile on his face. "I do!"
"Good, now I can watch what I want to on TV," Shelley grabbed the remote.
"Hey! It's a good show!"
"You look like you're about to bust a leak, it's not that sad," Shelley had said.
"That horse was starving! It could have died!"
"Wash up before you touch anything Stanley," Sharon instructed, leading him into the kitchen.
Stan took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He stood in front of the sink and stared at his hands intently as he washed them.
"Something wrong?" Sharon asked.
Stan frowned. "No."
"Well hurry along, you've been washing your hands for almost two minutes now."
Stan shook his head and dried them off before Sharon tied an apron around him.
"Going to be Mommy's helper tonight?" she smiled.
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'm going to start making the sauce for the manicotti. You get the fun job of mixing together the cheeses."
Sharon looked over as Stan had a difficult time deciding which cheese should go into the bowl first.
"Why don't you just start off with the ricotta?" she finally suggested.
He nodded, almost satisfied someone else made his difficult decision before mixing things together. He looked over to his mother for the next step.
"You get to stuff the noodles with the cheese now. You just get all the fun steps don't you?" Sharon smiled at her son.
Stan smiled back, happy like any kid to be making a mess. One of the reasons why he enjoyed helping his mom with dishes that called for cheese. Stan had grabbed the first manicotti noodle and scooped out the cheese and began to stuff it in. But it wasn't good enough. He had to take it out and do it again. This time enough didn't get in. So he had to do it again. By this time the noodle was beginning to look messy and that bothered him too.
"Damnit, damnit, damnit!" he cried.
"What's wrong sweetheart?" Sharon looked surprised.
"I can't do it Mom! I can't do it!" he sank on the stool he was on.
"Do what? Stuff the noodles? Sweetie, all you have to do is scoop some cheese into it and line them in the dish. It's not hard."
"I know but I can't do it right," Stan looked miserable.
"Well, there isn't really a right or wrong way to do it Stan."
Stan just crossed his arms, defeated.
"Look, I'll do the first one"- Sharon showed him how easy it was. "You're nine honey, I'm sure you are more than capable of stuffing pasta noodles."
Stan was able to stuff the noodles in the end although it was hard to ignore how messy they looked. Sharon had to remind him that once the sauce and remaining cheese was poured on top it would look messy anyway. Stan was satisfied enough with this answer so he lined up the baking sheet with frozen garlic bread and put it in the oven ten minutes before dinner would be ready. Sharon had called Shelley over to help set the table. After Stan was finally finished helping his mom in the kitchen he went into the dining room and gasped.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded of his older sister.
"What?" Shelley glared.
"The fork should be on the right side of the knife!"
"Why?" she was clearly annoyed.
"Because we're all right-handed! It's easier to pick up the fork if it's on the same side as your dominate hand!"
"Who cares? It's not that hard to pick it up if it's on the other side."
"Yes it is!" Stan went around and rearranged the utensils to their 'correct positions.'
It didn't stop there. He flipped when she placed blue napkins on the table.
"They have to be red! It'll match the color of the manicotti," he told her.
"What?" now Shelley was just shocked.
Stan replaced the blue napkins with the red.
"Mom! Stan's not letting me set the table!"
"Stanley, you help in the kitchen, Shelley is doing the dining room," Sharon said.
"But Mom, she was"-
"Now Stanley!"
Stan clearly looked angry and confused as he ate dinner that night.
Present day…
"I knew how he acted was odd at the time but I didn't think too much of it. It never happened again, at least not for a long time," Sharon said.
Dr. Bentley nodded. "Can you explain his hoarding? Do you have any idea what might have brought that up?"
"I don't know what to be honest. He's always kept his things neat enough. I mean he's a boy, I never expected perfection when it came to being organized and neat. It's not as if he was ever really 'spoiled'. I can't think of any memory in his life that could have been traumatic for him that might have caused him to… hold onto things. He just likes to. His room has only gotten worse each passing year."
"I cannot safely say what is causing Stanley to keep his things. I do know however that hoarding is a symptom of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Maybe there isn't any real reason he is holding onto a pile of rocks beside the fact that his compulsive nature is keeping him from tossing them out."
"Really?" Sharon looked almost grateful.
"I can't answer everything until I see him," Dr. Bentley placed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
At this, Sharon bit her lip. She admittedly didn't really think about bringing Stan in. "Do I have to bring him in?"
"Until I see your son Mrs. Marsh I cannot diagnose him with anything. I need to evaluate him personally so that I can get a better understanding of his behavior and routines and get him the proper treatment. What day do you think would be best?" Dr. Bentley had a pen in her hand.
Her son was truly going to hate her now. But it was for the best. Sharon went and made an appointment with Dr. Bentley. Now the difficult part- distributing the news to Stan. Luckily for her, Randy seemed to be supportive and understanding about everything when she came home to tell him. After she explained just what she talked about with the psychiatrist he seemed to finally come to rest that their son was indeed just a bit different than his friends. But it was nothing to how Stan might react when they told him. A week went by and Sharon and Randy went up to their son's room after he got ready for bed. Stan looked a little surprised to see his parents standing there in his room.
"Wow, I can't remember the last time you guys tucked me into bed," Stan smiled, stretching out as if he were five again.
Sharon and Randy gave each other a look. Stan knew this look.
"What now?" he groaned.
Sharon took in a deep breath. "Stanley, sweetie, you- you have a doctor's appointment in two days."
Stan groaned again. "Aw- awww! Why?"
They didn't seem to be able to tell him the answer.
"That's not fair; I'm not sick."
"It isn't at Dr. Davies' clinic Stan," Randy said.
"Then who? I had my braces tightened with Dr. Zephyr two weeks ago. What other doctor would I need to see?"
Sharon sighed and took her son's hand. Stan let go, knowing this wasn't going to be good.
"Just spill it you guys," he said savagely, arms wrapped around his knees.
"Stan, you have an appointment with a Doctor Bentley," Sharon began.
"Who's Dr. Bentley?"
"She's a special kind of a doctor. She's a child therapist," Sharon said carefully.
Stan sat up straight. "Whoa, wait- what? Why? Why the fuck do I need to see a therapist?"
"Stan, your mother and I are worried about your actions lately."
"What actions?"
"Your routines before bed. How everything has to be in even numbers. How you carry around a timer everywhere you go. Not to mention your hoarding," Randy looked around the messy room.
"I don't hoard!" Stan screamed.
"No one collects Sprite cans Stan. Collections are usually made up of something that's valuable," Randy pointed out.
"Not all the time. And my cans are worth something, I mean they will be in ten years."
"Not ten versions of the same can," Randy frowned.
"The point is baby, this behavior isn't normal. I know you think you're fine and what you're doing is normal but… it's not. It is something that needs to be looked into. We're just doing this because we love you baby," Sharon put a hand on Stan's cheek.
"But it's nothing. You don't have anything to worry about," Stan exasperated.
"We are worried. But we don't want you to be; it's only an evaluation. You won't have to do anything you won't want to do," Sharon said light-heartedly.
"I don't want to go to the appointment," Stan growled.
Randy frowned. "That's not one of your options son."
"I don't want to go. I don't need to go. What am I going to say to my friends? I was planning to spend the day at the park playing baseball with everyone."
"You still can, the appointment is at ten o'clock. You'll just be pulled from science class, that's a good thing isn't it?" Sharon smiled.
"Yeah, you don't have to worry about turning in that one report on cells until the day after," Randy added.
Stan thought. If it did get him out of that…
"So will you go? For us?" Sharon asked.
"My friends are still going to ask where I was…" Stan mumbled.
"Just give them a half-lie. Say you have a doctor's appointment, just don't specify what kind," Sharon said helpfully.
Randy placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed in a dramatic manner. "Above anything son, you have to address your hoarding problem. It is getting out of hand again. You're lying to yourself if you think otherwise."
Stan looked down at his brown tabby kitten Napoleon who was currently playing with his fingers. Stan sighed heavily.
"Fine, I'll go."
"Oh thank-you honey." Sharon kissed him. "You'll be glad you did, I promise you."
Stan hardly thought that could be as he really didn't think any of the things he did was out of the ordinary. Kyle was the one who went all anal when his things were out of place or unorganized yet why wasn't he being called out? Just because his room was ten times cleaner or what? But Stan knew he couldn't do much to get out of it now, so might as well roll with it. He could hate his parents after.
Two days later Stan found himself sitting in the waiting room of a therapist's office with his parents. His arms were crossed, he sat lank in the chair, making annoyed noises the whole while. This was all going to be a waste of time, he knew it. The door opened and a woman with dark hair stepped out with a smile and called him in. Sighing, he got to his feet and followed after his parents. The first question Stan had to ask Dr. Bentley before they even reached a room was-
"Am I going to have to sit on a couch?"
She chuckled. "No Stanley, this is just an evaluation today."
Well, that was one good thing. They reached her office and Stan took up a seat between his parents on the other side of the doctor's desk.
"First off- how are you doing today Stanley?" she asked.
"I dunno."
She nodded. "I don't want you to feel alarmed all right? I'm just going to be asking you some questions today, get a feel as to why you might be acting the way you are. I'm not going to examine you or poke and prod you or make you sit on the couch okay?"
Stan nodded mutely.
Dr. Bentley tapped a pen to her lips. "First thing I want to know is: in your own words Stan, can you describe your bedroom for me?"
Stan was taken aback at this question. "I guess… um, it's a nice-sized room. I have a bed, closet, desk where my computer is at… on it is my collection of Sports Illustrated Magazines. I have a nice shelf that holds all of my collections. Um, I usually leave my sports stuff on the ground as well as my guitars and amp since I use those things all the time so it's just easier to grab 'em if they're right there than dig around in my closet or the garage for them. That's pretty much it I guess."
"Okay. So you don't feel it is messy in any way?"
"Well, maybe a little, but who's isn't at this age?" Stan shrugged.
Dr. Bentley smiled. "True."
"Not everyone has a messy room Stan. You and your friends always make fun of Kyle since his room is so clean," Randy interrupted.
"Mr. Marsh, I'm having a conversation with your son right now. Could you hold off on your comments until after?" Dr. Bentley advised.
Randy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.
"What do you define as a 'mess' Stan?" the therapist continued.
Stan had to think for a moment on this one. "Stuff lying about? Useless stuff?"
"What to you is 'useless'?"
"Um… damn, I don't really know. I suppose anything can serve a purpose. You never know when you might need a broken chair or an empty box of Kleenex."
"Okay…" she trailed before scribbling something down. She asked a few more questions before getting to another. "Can you explain all about your collections for me Stanley? What are they? When did you start them? Why do you collect these things?"
At this Stan smiled; someone actually seemed interested in his things, unlike his parents who only wanted to toss them out. "The first collection I started was my Batman one. Batman's been my favorite comic book hero since I was in preschool. I always had Batman toys growing up. I guess I never really wanted to let go of any of them since I really love the movies and the whole thing in general. Some toys I had to get rid of growing up, others I kept or found online or something."
"Okay. So in your mind you feel they will appreciate in value over time?" Dr. Bentley asked.
"Well, yeah dude, it's Batman! Who doesn't know who he is?"
"Okay, go on."
Stan rubbed his chin. "I have a baseball card collection. I have… 310 cards last time I counted. No need to explain why I hold onto those. Everyone knows how valuable baseball cards are. But I don't plan on selling any of them; they belong to me and only me. I have a real cool rock collection too. One day, when I was eleven, I found a cool jagged rock that glittered in the sun. I had to keep it. Then I started to think there might be other nice rocks if I just began to look so I did. I now have… 44 rocks."
"Okay. Do you know if any of them are worth something?"
"I never checked. But I don't care, they're just as cool and priceless as my baseball cards," Stan passed off.
He told her about his collection of pens and pencils before going to his bottles.
"Simple: if it's a cool bottle, I keep it. I make sure I wash it after I drink whatever's in it. But we've all drunken from bottles before that we just thought- man, this is a cool design. I don't want to throw it out. I own 22 bottles."
Dr. Bentley nodded as she wrote. Meanwhile Sharon and Randy were giving each other looks, clearly not understanding their son's reasons for any of this stuff.
"I own a lot of socks because I love socks," Stan continued. "I love how they feel on my feet. I love finding trendy or unique sock patterns. I own one that has giant lobsters on it. It's really cool and I know not many people own socks like that. I own 32 pairs of socks," Stan explained, grinning happily.
"What do you do if you lose a pair?" asked the doctor.
"Aww man, I freak. I actually did lose a sock a few months ago. I could not find it anywhere in the house and my mom knew she had washed them both. I had to throw out the remaining sock; I can't have just one sock."
Dr. Bentley bit her lip, remembering Sharon explaining how Stan had to have everything in even numbers. Stan told her he had 64 issues of Sports Illustrated Magazine sitting on his desk because he loved sports and had been adding to the pile since he was eight. Lastly, he told her about his new collection of Sprite cans. The woman pushed aside her folder.
"Stanley, do you feel you are holding onto any useless processions? Do you think in any way your hoarding problems may be returning?"
This was the first time in the appointment Stan glared. "No. I know I used to be a hoarder when I was a little kid but I'm not now."
"Okay."
"First thing I did after that bust of a regression therapy was throw out all the stuff in my locker. Any my friends can tell you since that day, my locker has been clear of any unnecessary things."
"That is true…" Sharon trailed.
"I don't actually have a locker in school now. The only lockers in Jr. High are small ones for the gym. The only things in my locker are my PE clothes and a towel. And deodorant. And a mouth guard. Maybe a water bottle. I think a bottle of Gatorade..." Stan thought. "Shit! I think I left that one gay book I have to read for English in there!"
His parents shared another look.
"But yeah, all those things I need for PE class so…" Stan recovered.
"Stanley, do you know if you or anyone else, including your pets, has ever broken anything on accident or injured themselves walking in your room?" Dr. Bentley went on.
"No," he answered immediately. "Well my sister did step on a CD cover once or twice before, cracking it."
"I've stepped on books and shit plenty of times, have you forgotten that?" Randy argued.
"Everyone has tripped over a piece of clothing or your backpack Stan," Sharon told him.
Stan rolled his eyes. "I said I was sorry and moved those things. No one trips over anything now."
"The point is Stan your room is so messy, it's almost dangerous," Sharon explained.
"Can we talk about something else now?" Stan put his face in his hands.
"Of course sweetie," Dr. Bentley said. She looked back at her folder. "Can you explain to me your bedtime routine? In your own words?"
Another odd question but Stan shrugged a shoulder. "I change into pj's and brush my teeth. What else do you expect?"
"Stanley!" Sharon snapped.
"Do you do any of those things in a particular way? Is there anything else you have to do before you're finally in bed?"
"No…"
"Are you sure? You don't …count anything?" Dr. Bentley said gently.
Stan glared at his mother, no doubt she had been telling this therapist crap. "Whatever my mom said is not true. I only get changed and use the bathroom before going to bed."
"Okay, okay, that's fine," Dr. Bentley said calmly. "What about numbers? Do you have a favorite number?"
"My lucky number is twelve. It's two even numbers put together to make another even number."
"Okay. What about the number eleven? Or the number three? How do you feel about those?"
Stan shook his head. "I don't like them. They're odd. Every odd number is wrong. One isn't too bad but…everything after it… just the thought of a number being odd… I don't like it."
"Has that always been the case?"
"I think."
The therapist asked a few more questions before she was finished. She looked at her notes, thinking.
"I have an idea Stan. How about you show me your bedroom, hmm?"
"My bedroom? Why?" he asked, alarmed.
"I think I will be able to get an even better view of you if I see your bedroom. How does tomorrow sound?"
Stan had no choice but to agree. The night before his mother tried and failed at getting him to clean the place up. Stan told her why lie about his room to a medical professional? She would know he was lying. Plus he didn't want any of his collections to be disturbed. Sharon opened the door the next day to Dr. Bentley. She asked if she could have a tour of the house to get a good feel for it. Sharon showed her around. Dr. Bentley ran her hand on the table by the couch where four remotes lay.
"I- wouldn't touch them if I were you," Sharon rushed over. "Stan kind of gets upset if the remotes are mixed up."
"Mixed up?"
"To him- the TV remote has to be the closest to the sofa. Next to that are the DVD and Blu-Ray remotes, and finally the VCR."
Dr. Bentley wrote this down. "What is his reasoning for it?"
"It's in the order of how much each is used."
Dr. Bentley nodded before continuing. For the most part the house was neat and normal without much structure or influence by Stan. Sharon went to the foot of the stairs and called up.
"Stan? Stanley sweetie, Dr. Bentley is here!"
Stan came down moments later, putting on his poof ball hat over his increasingly messy hair. He was still barefoot and dressed in pajamas.
"Stanley! You told me you'd look nice for our guest," Sharon scolded.
Stan looked at his clothes. "Whoops."
Dr. Bentley came over. "Oh it's fine Mrs. Marsh. I tend to prefer seeing a child in his natural surroundings and what's comfortable with him anyway."
Sharon crossed her arms, still wishing her son had decided to at least put on shoes.
"How are you doing this afternoon Stan?" Dr. Bentley asked.
"Okay. Uh, you?"
"Very well, thank-you." She smiled. "Do you like walking around in pajamas?"
"Yeah. I love wearing them at home, especially if I'm not sick," Stan told her. "And it's a Thursday, so I should be in school," he added with a wink.
Dr. Bentley smiled. "Would you like to show me your room Stan?"
"Um… sure."
He led the way to his mess. Dr. Bentley looked around and made some notes.
"Does your room look like this most of the time?"
"Yeah. I tried to clean it a bit but- got distracted," Stan trailed.
"That's fine." She looked at the cabinet on the far wall. "Oh, so these must be your collections I take it?"
"Yeah," Stan grinned, coming over. "My rocks, bottles, Batman toys… all here."
"I see. Well it looks very nice dear. Oh look at that! You have a Batman toy that came out what? In 2005?" she picked up a small figurine.
"Yeah, that was one of my first toys. I got it in a Whacky Meal at Wendell's Burger's when I was four. I love that thing. I- how do you know when it came out?" he looked at her surprised.
Dr. Bentley smiled. "My brother loves Batman too. Has a pretty nice collection of items from the DC universe."
"Really? You never told me! Wow! I'd love to see!" the preteen exclaimed.
"Well maybe you can one day."
Stan smiled before fishing something from his closet. "Look- a rare Batman figure from 1975. Got it last year."
Dr. Bentley took it. "Wow, you should show my brother this. I'm sure he'd love to see it."
Stan felt more and more relaxed around the doctor as she went about his room asking questions about the things inside and showing interest in them. She noticed his stack of Sports Illustrated magazine by his computer.
"Are these the magazines you count before you go to bed each night?" she asked.
"Yeah, I have- I mean, no. I don't count them," he glared.
The woman sighed. "Stanley, your mother told me"-
"Well she's lying. She doesn't know what I do before I go to sleep. I just put on pajamas and use the bathroom like everybody else!" Stan cried.
"Okay, okay. You don't do anything else before you go to bed?"
"No."
Dr. Bentley sighed and sat down on his bed. "Stan, I think we need to talk."
Stan stood stiffly before sitting next to her.
"Your mother explained to me you have an interesting routine each night before bed. When do you first get ready for bed?"
"I don't"-
"I'm just asking when you get ready for bed Stan."
He said grumpily, "10:30."
"Exactly?"
"Exactly."
Dr. Bentley nodded. "Do you always know what pajamas you want to wear for the night?"
"Most of the time. Sometimes I just pick whatever I find off the floor. Other times are a little more difficult. Like last night, I didn't know if I wanted to wear my red plaid pants with my shirt or green pants."
"What made you decide to wear the green?" she noted his green plaid lounge pants.
"I'm wearing a Mountain Dew shirt that says 'Do the Dew.' Mountain Dew is green, so I had to go with green pants," Stan shrugged.
Dr. Bentley nodded. "How long does it usually take you to brush your teeth?"
"Why?" he frowned.
"I'm just asking dear."
"Two minutes…"
"You know the exact length of time you brush?" she asked.
"Yeah… I mean, isn't that what dentists always say? At least two minutes?" Stan looked uncomfortable.
"True… and does the two minutes include flossing and mouthwash or just teeth brushing?"
At this Stan froze. "I- oh god, I don't know."
"Don't know what dear?"
Stan gripped his old hat. "I spend two minutes brushing yeah, but I never count how long it takes to floss. Oh my god!"
"Sweetie, relax, it's okay," Dr. Bentley tried to sooth.
"No it's not. I have to make sure I spend an adequate time flossing too. Especially now that I have braces. Shit, I have to start timing myself on that too."
Dr. Bentley bit her lip, afraid she had made Stan want to get into another pointless habit. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Stanley sweetie, no, it's fine. You don't have to worry. You don't have to time yourself when you floss. Not even when you brush."
"I do. I already eat things I'm not supposed to; I should at least make sure I floss a good length to make up for it!" Stan cried.
It took a few more minutes to calm Stan down and semi-convince him he did not have to worry about not timing how long it took to floss. Dr. Bentley was able to get information on his other bedtime routines before asking more questions about his home life and habits. She asked if he enjoyed cleaning which he answered no, yet he did mention he did enjoy helping his mom in the kitchen and keeping things 'orderly' around the house. She asked what he liked to do for fun which he answered playing baseball and football, practicing his guitar, and hanging out with friends. She then proceeded with his relationship with his pets. He told her he loved his two cats and one dog very much but he quickly explained to her that he was not an animal hoarder. He knew she was getting to that. An hour passed after before she was finally finished. She met with Sharon and Stan in the living room.
"Well?" Sharon looked nervous as if Dr. Bentley was about to diagnose her son with cancer.
"I got a great look inside your home and your son today Mrs. Marsh so I want to thank you. It was definitely one of the best appointments I've had in a while," Dr. Bentley smiled.
"So…?" Stan trailed, wanting an answer like his mother.
Dr. Bentley sighed. "You may not like this but, I'm afraid your son is showing signs of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. One of the symptoms of this is hoarding."
"Oh no," Sharon said softly, putting a hand to her lips.
Stan however looked angry at the news. "No, you're lying! I'm not a- well, I may show some signs of hoarding but only because I was diagnosed before! I'm not doing it anymore! And OCD? What the hell? That makes it sound as if I'm crazy!"
"Stanley, don't talk like that in front of our guest," Sharon reprimanded him.
"No one is saying you're crazy Stan dear. Many children suffer from OCD. It has nothing to do with being mental. You just like to have things in a certain way. In an orderly way. Your way. There's nothing wrong with that."
"If there wasn't there wouldn't be anything to 'diagnose'," Stan said bitterly, arms crossed, sinking into the sofa.
Dr. Bentley sighed. "Unfortunately having things done in a certain order may lead to problems when you get older Stan. You may like to put the remotes in the same order each day but in two years you could be lining pencils up in a very particular way."
"So you say I have OCD just because I like to put the remotes in the right order?" Stan growled.
"Other symptoms of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder include favorite numbers and fears of others. You seem to have a rather large attachment to even numbers. You seem to fear doing anything with odd ones. You also have routines before you go to bed. You also time yourself doing everyday things. You get highly upset when someone does not do something the way you think it should be done. All classic signs of OCD," Dr. Bentley explained.
Sharon looked at her son sadly as the doctor spoke, hand on his shoulder.
"This is just stupid…" Stan muttered.
"What I want to know is why," Sharon spoke. "Why now? You told me you threw out that trash you had in your locker when you were nine, Stan. How did you begin hoarding again in only a few short years?"
At this Stan's stomach bubbled with guilt. He relaxed his hold on his arms. "I… have something to tell you Mom. And I don't think you're going to like it."
Sharon waited with anticipation.
Stan drew in a long breath. "The truth is Mom… I never did throw out the trash from my locker all those years ago. I went back for it after throwing it out that same day and kept it all in my closet since then."
Sharon's eyes were wide. "No! Stanley tell me you didn't."
"I'm sorry Mom. I couldn't tell you because I knew you'd be upset," Stan said looking at his feet. "I knew how happy you were when you thought I was cured from my hoarding so I never told you. That day I cleaned out my locker, I cracked. I couldn't go the whole school day without thinking of my stuff in the trash bin near my locker. I had to go back for it, I had to."
Sharon sniffed. "This whole time… I thought you were cured but this whole time… you've just been hiding it behind my back. You never did get over you hoarding. I should have known something was up when you began to collect things. I put too much trust into thinking you had actually changed."
Stan felt burning shame inside his insides now. He felt so guilty. But he knew there really wasn't anything he could tell his mom now, she already voiced the truth. Sharon dabbed at her eyes before turning to Dr. Bentley.
"So what do we do now? Is there anything you can do for my son?"
Dr. Bentley put a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think it is best to tackle his disorders right away. The longer we wait the worse it can get. I would like to well, to put it in his terms, 'put him on the couch.'"
Stan opened his mouth but realized he didn't know if he should argue or not.
"I would like to try and get to the root of the problem and hopefully, this time, we can figure out why he is hoarding once and for all," Dr. Bentley said.
Sharon looked at Stan.
"What do you think Stanley?"
"I- well I dunno…" he shrugged.
"You do know why I would like to do this Stan?" Dr. Bentley placed her hand on his. "We need to know how to help you. I know at the age of thirteen you don't want to be labeled with any conditions or problems or anything but it's for the best."
Stan sighed. "It's not that I'm worried of. I have asthma, I had to get braces last summer, have been in and out of depression, falsely labeled to have ADD, falsely labeled to have Asperger's Syndrome… I'm used to it."
Dr. Bentley looked surprised. "Really? I didn't know all of that. But do you understand why I have to do this? So you can finally get help dear."
Stan sighed sadly. "It's just that it failed last time. I don't think it's gonna work this time…"
Sharon seemed to be thinking the same thing.
Dr. Bentley smiled. "I promise you I will do my best. I have a very high success rate with the children I work with. We will get to the root as to why you hoard and why you have OCD. And we will get you help for it."
Stan looked up at his mother; it was in her hands now. Sharon nodded. "I think it's for the best. When will be the best time?"
"I can schedule an appointment for next Tuesday if that's okay with you," Dr. Bentley said.
"Tuesday is fine," Sharon said without thinking.
"Tuesday at nine? I will see you then Stan," Dr. Bentley smiled. She thanked the Marshes again for welcoming her in their home before gathering her things and leaving.
Stan looked up at his mother. She got to her feet.
"Why don't I make you some lunch sweetie?" she said before going into the kitchen.
Stan sighed before flipping on the TV. In four days he would have another shot at getting down to the root of his hoarding. He hoped it wouldn't be another misfire. He didn't need to be labeled with yet another problem.
Since this is long enough already, it will be two chapters. I hope you like it and come back for more! I admit I have my own collections as well, one of which is over 200 pairs of socks. Please don't forget to review, thanks!
Lots of love: Rose, November 13, 2010