Tag Archives: shopping

Shoes, yes shoes

I like clothes. I look for beautiful colors and soft fabrics. Once I went in to a vintage store right after I got paid and bought, at a very good price, every single cashmere sweater in the place. I just bought two pair of shoes, frantically purchased at Famous Footwear because the outfit I was going to wear wasn’t going to work out and the solid grey I put together desperately needed silver shoes. I found them, and a pair of gray boots, too. But one, get one half price.

It’s not just that I love clothes. I love my daughter, my husband and having good hair. I love Jesus and the Holy Spirit and God. Chocolate and Italian sodas make higher on my list than clothes. I easily love them more that shoes, however: Shoes do something to me. I rarely need a pair of shoes, such as running shoes, go in to a store and buy them on sale. That is what people do that do not have psychiatric issues. I buy shoes when I need them powerfully. It happens during a severely depressive day or bad week. I think like this, “I can kill myself, or I can buy some new shoes.” So far, I have always chosen the shoes. I’ve come home with eight pair. I took them home and tried them all on and took some (not all) back. I reasoned that I should try them on in a place I felt comfortable. I will not be taking my boots and flats back. They are cute and I like them. They are also silver. I will give my husband the birthday and Christmas money I get and that will make us “even”.

Ah, glorious shoes. I will go upstairs, now, and clean out my closet.

Advertisements

Women be shoppin’

I am woman.  I am bipolar.  I can blame myself on the female bipolar diagnosis, but to do so would not be fair.  Would it?!?

I talked in my last post about self-control (or temperance).

Let’s look at it again:  Galatians 5 says: But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,  Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.  And they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.  If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.

I’m  really impulsive right now.  Sort of.  I find,  I buy.  I am thrilled and excited about it.  My psychiatrist said it was okay so long as I took it back.  So, I made myself buy things at stores that I can’t return things to.  Or I wait a very long time to take them back so they won’t let me do it.  I bought a sickening amount of paper.  And other stuff.  It’s a way to assuage the pain.  It makes me feel even keeled.

Pain is not necessarily a bad thing.  I read a wonderful book that I whole-heartedly recommend to everyone, “The Gift of Pain” by Dr Paul Brand and Philip Yancy.  Dr. Brand made some brilliant discoveries in his studies on leprosy.  He argues that pain is necessary and helps preserve our lives. C.S. Lewis says that, “Pain is God’s megaphone”.  I agree.  I need pain.  I am safe because of pain.

I am also dangerous.  Not only do I shop, which is innocuous, in the big scheme of things.  What is dangerous is the bottles of pill I have squirreled away.  They are deadly.  I thought I had given them, away after a relatively long spell of health, but I stumbled across some others.  A pill bottle stuffed to the top with Seroquel and two other drugs.  Even though I thought I got rid of them, they are in the medicine box.  If and when I speak to my therapist he will tell me to throw them away.  If you have such a stash, I am telling you right now to get rid of them.  Right now.  These things are required if we are going to heal.

Well, I just talked myself in to getting rid of my pills.

Another issue:  I try to watch my language.  I could destroy my marriage, my friendships and my whole life.  I have a new friend that said she needed to “scold” me because of something I said in conversation.  I couldn’t remember it, of course, but she understood that.  I was having one of my “spells,” which is probably an accurate description of what I go through.  My father initially told my brother, “Malakoa is in the nervous hospital”.  Fifty year old diction, it makes me giggle.

I’m spotting tonight, you can probably tell.  I’m over doped.  I am going to go read a book or three to my child, and check back with you tomorrow.


did you survive?

How did Thanksgiving go?  Mine was great except for the weird food my aunt cooked.  She usually makes great mashed potatoes but instead she blended in cheese and green onions and God knows what else.  I was a bit of a jerk and didn’t eat any in protest.  But everyone was too busy to notice my boycott.  

The event was without incident.  It was even nice.  Nothing to report, though.  I kinda wish I did, ya know, I could empathize.  But no empathy this year.  Maybe Christmas.

We went to Black Friday, Mr Malakoa and I.  We had a lot of fun.   We got the widget I was afraid we wouldn’t.  We found $87 cartridges for $30.  None of the stores were really crowded.  We laughed a lot at and with each other, held hands and let each other buy stuff.  It was the most fun we’d had together in a long time.

We go on “dates” about once every three months.  It’s expensive to pay for a babysitter so we don’t usually do it.  The problem is, though, is time alone, away from the house and chores and telephone calls.  (Lots of commas in the previous sentence.)  I remember what I like about him, what I love about him.  He’s funny, so handsome, and so darn smart.  I wish I would remember to treat him like that all the time, but I don’t.  We become adversaries during our regular lives.  I get p.o.ed about the time he spends on just about everything leisure.  He gets upset with me for not doing chores.  We try to cuddle and a five year old roots herself in between us.  It’s a wonderful life, just a difficult one, and dates allow us to escape all that junk.  We should get out more often.  It reminds me that I’m not going to suffer thirty years of misery.

I’ll add another post later on today.  So little to report this morning.  In a good way.