Archive for October, 2010


I suppose when a person feels loneliest, they can write.  I suppose when something takes over you like a virus over a body, it’s hard to see straight, think straight and even walk straight anymore.  Mostly, I find it hard to do things that I used to love, even writing.  I’m so lost in this shopaholic personality that I don’t even remember who I am without it.  My creativity seems limited, my friends seem distant, and my coworkers shake their heads because they know in a week or two despite all these new, “necessary” bargains, I’m going to be complaining about my Sears bill.

I hide my purchases, often sneaking them into the house, and somehow I always find the most opportune moments to sneak bag after bag, or shoe box after shoe box into my bedroom.  And my parents sit in awe at how my room turned into…well, a storage unit, rather than a room.  There is a pathway to my bed, to my desk, and part of the way to my bureau.  I have, well I’m not really sure how many storage bins I have.  But they are all full and/or overflowing.  And I keep using credit cards.  Like they were cash.  And I know they aren’t, but I keep doing it anyway, pretending it’s my money.  And say, “Well, I’m such a valued customer, they always know I’ll pay it off at the end of the month, but I look to the situation and nearly cry every time.  This was not how things were supposed to be.

It (the shopping) was supposed to do something, to mean something, to help fill a void in my life.  That emptiness…that sadness I felt when my old friends started to desert me.  Not always on their own account I think anymore, sometimes because I must have been a burden to them, someone who just became too much to handle.  It started the day or so before I graduated from college.  I gave this great speech, which I barely remember anymore, because I was so blinded and panicked by some friendships that had dissolved without me understanding so much the “why” behind it, and I remember changing into my senior t-shirt and jeans, pulling back my hair, and packing up my Subaru to the brim with “stuff.”

And somehow I thought, this is all I have.  And I have to start this new life, there are no classes to take anymore, no grades to stress over, but yet, I have no idea what I want to do with my life…and I felt extremely empty.  I spent all this time, on these friends, because I cared far too much for my own good.  And I was mostly alone, aside from my family as the campus started to close on May 12th, 2007.   I thought somewhat unconsciously, for I think this is when “stuff” started to take over my life.  “All I have are my things…”

I had spent a lot of time caring about people who stopped caring about me, if they cared at all, and I wondered what I had done everything for.  Why did I volunteer for things at school, why did I do theater (innately, it was one of my deepest desires, but I couldn’t even connect with it anymore), why did I bring friends cupcakes and brownies and cups of coffee, when all that I got in return was an awkward thank you and a pitiful response of, “I don’t deserve you.”

Maybe they didn’t.  For a long time I thought, maybe I didn’t deserve them.  Maybe I was far too self-absorbed and sick with anxiety for anyone to be able to handle me.  And so I shopped.  Maybe people would look at me differently.  Maybe I’d be accepted.  If I dressed differently, maybe I would be noticed by guys, or fit in with the girls I so admired.  But I realized, that the girl I thought I loved so much, (she seemed intellectually a dream friend, with brilliance and poise and sweetness) and I wanted so desperately to call her my best friend, in fact I did call her my best friend, but she was just another example of something/someone I was trying to be, but never really was.   I realized this, when she couldn’t give me reasons for why we were no longer friends.  She even stooped as low as unconsciously insulting a person’s reputation who tried to offer her advice, when one of our arguments revolved around her dating someone with a poor reputation for trust and a moral conscience.  And I couldn’t say anything in response to her rudeness, because I loved her so much.  Well, I guess it’s too bad for her, because despite all her successes, and she has been successful,  she’s become a great academic, but she doesn’t have me as a friend.  Because she wasn’t a good friend.  And it’s okay for me to say that, I am not a bad person and I don’t go around calling people names, but this, this is honesty.  And she has friends.  Which is good for her, but they don’t know the side of her that I saw.  No one really does, or has yet.  But that’s not my business anymore, we each have our own lives, and I have to live mine.  She has to live hers.

And that’s another interesting detail about me.  I can bring out the worst in people because I’m honest and upfront with them; most people don’t do that, and the reason is, because well, if they bared all, people might see their true colors and not want to be their friends.  So instead of embracing that honest me, they turn away and stop being friends with me, because they see who they really are.  Not that they saw something they couldn’t stand about me.  I’ve heard and read somewhere, that everything you see in others is what you see inside yourself, and if you can’t embrace both the monsters and the angels that some people encounter and tame or admire, it’s because you can’t come to terms with something dark inside you.  Where there is dark, there is light, and we have to have a balance of both.  And sometimes the most sage-like of people encounter demons with no fear, because they know the only true demons are the ones within.

The true friends I have, well, we are all able to recognize the faults in one another.  And they still call me, even when I’m too depressed to come and see them, because they love me enough they want to spend time with me, even if it is a fight for it to happen.  Sometimes, I’m so sad, I can’t leave home, or work, depending on the day.  I feel like I’m going to bring people down.  And I’m still learning to break out of my shell, to be comfortable in my own skin and to not spend my life away in material things, but I suppose I have got to take it all one day at a time, one problem at a time, one breath at a time to make sure my heart’s still beating and that my mind is still working.   My fingers still need to type, and my ideas need to be shared, but most of all, my dreams still need to be in motion, so I can eventually succeed, no matter how long it takes…


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