Nightmare In My Closet

I always say shopping is cheaper than a psychiatrist.  ~
Tammy Faye Bakker
I dream of the day when I can walk into my closet and find something to wear without excruciating mental anguish.  You know exactly what I mean, don't act so self-righteous!  It happened so gradually, that I was unaware of the sneaky, compulsive addiction consuming me.  If I hurt, shopping was the cure. This is the true story of how my love of beautiful clothes turned into the nightmare in my closet and my many attempts to tame it. 

I'll give you a little peek but it's just a fraction of the error of my wicked ways!

If I could pinpoint the most aggressive period of my affliction, it would be when I took on a second job in retail sales to supplement our income during one of our difficult times (d.i.v.o.r.c.e.).  Guess what?  The job was in the Ladies Clothing Department in one of the "better" stores. Oh, yeah! Put the clothes junkie to work in a sea of expensive, beautiful, wonderful designer clothing!   I took to the job like a duck takes to water!  The employee discount, the employee credit card, the 50% off the 30% off, the 75% off the 50% off the 30% off.......well, you get my drift.  Needless to say, I was hooked!  After eight years, I finally had a moment of clarity and quit the job.  However, the nightmare was already in my closet, on my dresser, in ten storage boxes, hanging on walls and in doorways.  Did I mention, we turned one bedroom into a walk-in closet and still needed more room to house our wardrobe?  Hello? If I'm not careful, I could end up on a reality show!

After carefully assessing the situation, the problem becomes abundantly clear.  Most of my lovely clothes are one or two sizes smaller than my ample rump.  I, therefore, have two choices and I don't like either one of them.  Choice #1:  Lose weight (not my favorite choice).  Choice #2:  Sort through and give away what I can no longer wear (I'll be naked because I refuse to buy the larger size that fits me).  Please, please, please let me keep all my "stuff".  I will need it when I lose weight next year (it's always, next year).  It makes me feel "safe" to have so many pretty clothes even if they don't fit anymore.

A girl needs tubs and tubs of socks, don't we?

O.K. before we do anything drastic, let's imagine a "worse case scenario". 
I deposit all my clothes that don't fit in one of those Salvation Army bins.  As I drive away, I have a mental breakdown.  After two days of being listed as a missing person, the police find me in a fetal position inside the bin, clutching my discarded clothing murmuring over and over again "but they are so pretty, they're mine, you can't have them."  The Salvation Army employees are called to release me from the locked bin and I am "escorted" to the nearest place of confinement for someone in my condition. 
Does anyone really want to see me in that pitiful situation? 

Boy, do I need counseling or what?  A psychiatrist could have a field day with my psyche!  A "skinny closet" is a very painful step for me in my desire for Simple Living.  I recognize that I have a problem.  That is the first step toward being whole.  Can we just leave it at that for the time being?  I'll address the situation on another day when I am more mentally stable.  The thought of purging my closet has proven to be too much for me to endure!  As Scarlet would say "I'll think about it tomorrow". 

Just for the record, I haven't gone shopping for myself in over a year.  That part of the sickness has been  stabilized.  It's the purging that leaves me trembling with fear!