We owe 17,560 dollars in outstanding credit card charges. I find that astonishing, and the euphoric gratification when shopping just doesn't cut it as an explanation. How, why, and when, did this happen is most on my mind. How? By secreting away the the money spent, Why? The fleeting moment of glee when purchasing new and shiny things (you, klepto, you), When? The past 4 years.
I am still befuddled beyond belief at this number. So many digits to comprehend, that it's mind boggling. Never mind the ready reserve the bank employs when you overdraw your account. My father went ballistic, claiming my mother and I stole from him, smashing and upturning the plaster and flinging crockery everywhere; he broke his hand punching a porcelain pot sticker.
And, you know what? I want a safe place, a place I can run to when I frightened out of my wits or angry beyond any wits. A place so secluded and surrounded with empathy, a place where I can go to when I want to slam the door and be anywhere but there. The option of fleeing at any moment fills me with doubt, and thrill, a thrill that fleets through my head with pictures: a room - a warm, breezy and cramped crawlspace with enough legroom, with an individual personality, and animated color spread along the walls. A secure and silent and unaffected by reality.
I'm just tired of my shallow breathing feeling like my world is caving in around me; my anxiety whipping through my veins like thumping blood and attempting to mentally flee at the drop of hat - escapism is not my forte. But, I want it, I want it so badly it hurts.
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