Pack rat and hoarder?

I'm not sure that I fit the definition of pack rat or hoarder. I don't have shelves upon shelves of things I never use but can't throw away. The innards of my closets are neat and orderly and I'm able to open their doors without fear of an avalanche. And there are no paths in my rooms chiseled among cardboard boxes and unnamed other items. My rooms are clean and well designed and even sparse by some opinions.

BUT, BUT, BUT! I keep papers. I hoard papers. I have boxes and boxes of printed pages of posts I have written in forums. Boxes of printed emails from penpals and other acquantances. Boxes of newspaper articles I've cut out and saved in case I needed to look at again, but never to look for them in years and even decades. I even have invoices and receipts going back decades. I have a footlocker full of diaries and mementos from the age of 14 to age 24 and even beyond. On the rare occasions when I read a couple of pages of those diaries I seem to think of the writer as another person that I slowly and reluctantly recognize. Was that really me saying and feeling and doing those things I even forgot about?

I envy people who throw letters and other things away with abandon, with nary a wisp of nostalgia for shreds of their past. I wish I could be so emotionally free as they. And I feel sorry for my adult daughter when I die and she has to wade through those mountains of paperwork. But, her job of destroying those papers will be easier than it would be for me, since like those those other people that I envy, she will have no emotional attachment to those papers about a life history in the making. Even if I never read them or even remember what is in those boxes, I know it's a textual recording of bits of my life.