Kimberly Rae Miller is a put-together woman with a great career, a loving boyfriend, and a tidy apartment on Manhattan's Upper West Side. But she grew up behind the closed doors of her family's Long Island house, navigating between teetering stacks of aging newspapers, broken computers, and boxes upon boxes of unused junk festering in every room — the product of her father's painful and unending struggle with hoarding.
He had one plastic bag tied to another tied to a torn knapsack, and rested it all on his shoulders. This man was mesmerizing. This man was homeless. I had never thought about homeless people before, but I knew that was what he was.
I craned my neck backward to watch him, my mother pulling me toward our gate, as he walked through Penn Station and ate the remnants of a box of Kentucky Fried Chicken. I wondered how he had paid for his chicken and watched as his plastic bags swayed from side to side with each of his steps.
When he saw me staring he tilted his box of chickenRead More »from Coming Clean: What Life is Really Like Inside the House of a Hoarder