Driving in the city everywhere I turn there are stores with things to buy. Stores with irresistible draw that will suck me in like a vacuum. They infest every street, every corner, and every park and there is nowhere to hide. Then developers created malls, giant complexes with the sole purpose of selling, it’s the secret weapon.

I find myself wandering, lost in the crowd of last minute Christmas shoppers and crazed teens racing to get a free tote with a Victoria Secret purchase while supplies last. Sale banners adorn every door that emits shoppers holding huge bags and I ogle them. I stop in front of a store window, looking in at salesmen wrapping gifts and customers picking clothes off the racks. This is the turning point. I could walk away right now left only with the feeble memory of the longing, the wanting. Or I could walk in and deal with the consequences. If only the resistance were strong enough.

I rush into the store before I change my mind, because I know that once I’m in there is no going back. I grab whatever looks cute, glancing at the size. I pick out useless things like fifty dollar bottle openers and designer sunglass cases in addition to all the clothes. I go to the register without trying anything on and get in line, relieved that I’m not the only one blowing hundreds of dollars. I try not to think about the fact that the difference between me and them is that they can afford it. I can’t. I don’t let myself think about anything that will make me back out.

When it is my turn to pay, I pull out my magical little plastic card that makes all this possible. It is my life line. And I smile as it swishes through the card reader. Then the cashier hands me the giant shopping bag and I get a rush. Now I’m the one people are envying.

I am at my best. Nothing else in this world makes me feel the way shopping does. I get home and place the new additions to my wardrobe in my closet, planning out what shoes I will wear with them and when I will wear it.
A few weeks later, I get the bill. The world goes black and I fall into a familiar depression. I can’t pay. I don’t know what to do. I can’t return them because that would be like giving away part of myself. That is more painful than begging my parents for money or getting a second job.

Hi, I’m Rebecca and I’m a shopaholic.