Help, I'd Fall But I Can't Find the Floor

If there is one thing that absolutely drives me nuts, it's clutter. When I was a little girl, I shared a room with my sister and it was filled to the ceiling (or so it seemed) with dolls, games, etc etc plus bunk beds. Then when my parents divorced, I had my own room, which I junked up pretty quickly (but those psychedelic colored peace-sign posters that lit up under the black light were cool). One day when I was about fifteen, I had a strange urge that came over me to clean my room (these urges were few and far between) and I started hauling stuff out into the hallway and telling my mom to get rid of it. I remember lining stuff up down the hallway while she carried it out (don't know where. Didn't ask; didn't care.) and suddenly my room was CLEAN and UNCLUTTERED and it was a high, let me tell you. From then on, I was pretty neat. When I was seventeen and got married, we found this teeny-tiny apartment that had once been someone's garage, and I thought it was so cute. I couldn't wait to fix it up. I was working then at Montgomery Ward and so I had some extra money (That job had other perks. There was a gas shortage then, and their employees could buy gas there at their pumps anytime.) Anyway, I bought a sofa and chair, my first big purchases. I started moving things into the apartment the weeks before we got married, carefully picking what went and what didn't. When my husband-to-be decided it was time to move his things, I was so upset. He had so much junk! And the junk didn't seem to go with my idea of what the apartment should look like. So I bit my lip and did some compromising and we moved in.
It was pretty easy to keep the clutter down, as we moved often. We moved to change jobs, we moved to find better apartments, and we moved sometimes just because it seemed like it was time. Each move, I'd throw out as much as I packed.
As I've said before, my husband is a pack-rat and I'm passive, so I suffer now a lot in silence. I've lived here six years. He moved in a lot of furniture I hate and stuff I think he should have tossed out. So, even though I try to sneak out things from time to time, it doesn't seem to make a dent.
So I do the next best thing. I buy books about organizing. Only problem is reading about it only means that I have to find a place to organize the organizing books.
Once I hired an organizational expert to come in and help us with our walk-in closet. I knew it was too full, but I had a hard time convincing him. My thought was that a unbiased second opinion would change his mind. The lady started by dragging every single thing into the bedroom, and saying, "Look through this box. Pick out only three of these. You don't need that many" and so forth. I was in heaven, and thought this was so much fun. Later in the day I got a look at him, and he looked like he'd done a forty hour dance marathon followed by his best friend's funeral and a trip to the oral surgeon. It was traumatic for him. Other people understand him feeling this way. I wish I understood, but I don't.
I honestly sit here and feel like screaming because I hate the way the house is now. No one else would come in here and agree with me. But that doesn't change the way I feel. I know it borders on neurotic, but I don't know what to do about it. I have even started looking at houses for sale, thinking a move would get things under control again. He'd never go for that, since this place is ours free and clear now.
I just would give anything to be able to call Goodwill to come get everything I don't want. He'd go into cardiac arrest. It's a no-win situation. And so frustrating.