Once again, Chrissy has called me on my shit with her post about possessions and emotions. While she almost certainly wrote the post about and for herself, the nature of addiction is that I can make such a post be all about me, so here we are. Thank you, Chrissy, for being such an inspiration to me this morning, I needed it and I love you for it.
In spite of the fact that I have made 3 trips to the donation drop-off and trashed a lot of unnecessary paperwork and other garbage, I still haven’t gotten totally honest and ragingly brutal with some areas of my home. Like clothes, shoes, accessories, and craft supplies. After reading Chrissy’s post, I put on my big girl panties and waded into the closet. There were a number of casualties.
5 tops. All of them are things I won’t wear, yet I refused to get rid of them because of the name on the label. Who cares if it’s a Cavalli or Tory Burch if I’m not fucking wearing it? Like, seriously, what’s the point in that?
2 pairs of pants. White pants. Because what the fuck was I even thinking bringing white pants into my world? Do we really think I can keep white pants white for more than .25 nanoseconds?
An olive green linen knit blazer. That wouldn’t button. Did I mention that it’s green? I won’t wear green near my face, because it does my complexion no favors.
A black leather mid-thigh length jacket. Buttery soft. When I get honest with myself, I have to admit that I won’t wear it. This is Texas, where winter lasts about 5 weeks and wouldn’t even be considered chilly by some folks up north.
One pair of cute point toe boots with a block heel. Do I really need four fucking pairs of brown boots? No. These particular boots made my feet look triple-wide, and kept me from wearing other brown boots that I like much better.
2 pairs of brown mules. Who am I kidding? Mules aggravate my sciatica. I’m not going to wear them.
One pair of black sandals. Comfortable as fuck, but I won’t wear them because I have another pair of black sandals I like better.
I was actually able to get rid of an entire shoe rack and add it to the donate pile. I moved some shoes from the “these are nice shoes” category in my head; those pairs now reside in the “I’m not attached to them, which makes them perfect summer work shoes” category.
I also got rid of some costume jewelry pieces, and moved some clothes from the active section of my closet into the “holding zone”. If I don’t lose enough weight to fit into them within the next year, they have to go.
I can honestly say that I’m a bit ashamed of myself. I can also say that I’m not going to let it eat my lunch. If I get really, totally, brutally honest with myself, well…
Yes. The shoes and clothes are another fix. What can I say? I’m an addict. Addicts fix.
However, I find that there are far less negative consequences of this fix than of my old ones. And I’ve got too much on my plate (medical issues, mental health issues, moving into a construction zone, etcetera) to think I am in the kind of spiritual condition required to eliminate the fix from my life right now. Better to fix on clothes and shoes than to fix on dope.
Many of us have a tendency to weave complex webs of rationalization. Yes, I’m weaving a web right now. I’ll worry about that with my sponsor, because I certainly can’t stop the process by myself.
Final note: yes, Patricia, I still like my money where I can see it😁 These aren’t going anywhere.