[ WP ] I 'm fairly certain I 've closed my closet door more times than I 've opened it ...

I have always hated my closet; it just simply is n't big enough. I always had to awkwardly pile everything as high as I could. This'tower of junk', which had a gross likeness to the one in Pisa, would always precariously lean against the inside of the door. Every time that door got opened, I always had to reach out and quickly close it before all of my possessions spilled out across the floor. Once or twice I was too slow to close that damn closet door, and everything I had collapsed on top of me, filling my schedule for the next few hours as I cleaned everything up. 
 
 At a certain point, my closet became so full that the door would sometimes fail to close all of the way, and would leave a fateful crack. That door would then wait for the slightest gust of air or vibration to push it that fraction of an inch it needed. Every time someone walked briskly by, or a door closed somewhere in the house, I had to reach out and close that damn closet door. I became an expect at reaching back and closing that door; always alert and ready for the next disturbance. Soon, it became impossible to fit anything else in that closet, and I was spending half of my time quickly reaching out and shutting that door. I must have closed that door thousands of times without ever opening it again. 
 
 But as my baggage grew larger, it became harder to close that door. The bottom few feet of closet became a true sea of mementos and other junk that I simply could not throw out. I began to have to spend more and more time closing the door. After a few months of constant attention to my closet, I decided that it was time to shut it for good. I got a wooden board and some nails, and boarded it shut. I would worry about it later, because I did n't need anything in that closet, anyway. For a while, it was glorious not having to shut that closet door. 
 
 But without anywhere for my baggage to go, it piled ever higher. Soon the door was straining against its hinges and nailed up board, and I was suffocating. Realizing that breathing was becoming more difficult with each passing day, I began pushing against that door. 
 
 With a crack, the board snapped, the hinges failed, and that closet door opened fully for the first time ever. 
 
 I tumbled out along with years of pent up fears, tears, and other emotions. All across my room my belongings spilled, touching every part of my small life. I was covered and buried in the stuff, unable to get up due to the weight and my exhaustion from keeping it all locked up for so long. 
 
 Soon, though, I could feel hands moving the debris off of me. A pair of arms reached through the rubble, and pulled me up. A few others helped me to my feet, and suddenly I found myself surrounded by friends. They embraced me just as I was, some of them crying, some shocked, and others just grinning from ear to ear. It turns out, I did n't have to live in that damn closet anymore.
