Getting Over It

I know I'm not handling this latest "crisis" well. It seems that whenever I get a shock, I go shopping. Somehow that eases the pain, helps me connect to something... I understand it's origins, but not why it works.

The origin is the mythological tale of The Red Shoes. A poor girl and her mother eke out a subsistence living, the mother is a dressmaker or somesuch. The little girl saves scraps of cloth, and eventually makes herself a pair of red shoes out of the bits she has saved. But the mother dies, and the little girl must go begging. A silver carriage stops in front of her, and a kindly old woman offers to take care of her, feed and clothe her, give her an education, etc. The little girl is very thankful to be taken in. But she is a bit shocked to find out that all her clothes, including her shoes, must be burnt, for fear they've been infested by vermin.

She grows into a lovely young lady, and then an event comes along. In some versions it's her first communion, in others it's some other rite of passage. But the old lady, who is quite blind by now, wants her to have a new white dress and shoes to match. They go to the shoemaker's and the girl is told to find a pair of white shoes. But high on a shelf she spies a pair of shiny red shoes that gleam with unearthly beauty, and once she has seen them, her heart is full of longing, and nothing will do but she must have those shoes. So she tells the old woman that they are white, and hides them from the servants, and can't wait to be alone so she can put them on and dance around her room.

One difficulty - she finds that she can't stop dancing once the shoes are on her feet. Some versions of the story have her crying out for help, she gets rescued, they manage to pry the shoes off her feet, she confesses and promises to be good in future, and goes through the rite of passage with a new pair of white shoes. And then another rite of passage happens, and she goes through the same problem.

Eventually, the shoes simply will not come off. In a drastic attempt to save the girl's life, her feet are cut off at the ankles, and the shoes, her feet still in them, go dancing away across the moor all by themselves.

It is a story of capture, of living someone else's life, living by someone else's rules. Try as we might, eventually our inner selves catch up with us, or catch us up, and no matter how hard we try to fit into the life that's been set for us, we rebel, and go lunging toward our own particular doom.

In my case, I simply have to spend money. I was brought up very frugally, to say the least, and my Grandma would get quite angry with me if I managed to incur unexpected expenses. In fact, I always thought we were poor. Money, the wise use of it, the keeping of it, the management of it, was like a lens through which everything was filtered. It colored everything about my life that I can remember. I did indeed feel like I was locked up in a prison for a great deal of my early life, and when I got out - WOW! Stand back everybody - woman with credit card comin' through!

I am not alone in this particular weakness, and it is exhibited in other ways which are perhaps a bit more subtle. I remember a Friend commenting something to the effect, "Why is it that the moment a woman invites someone over for a special occasion, the house must be redecorated?" And it's so true! Every "state visit" is usually preceeded by frantic painting, re-arranging of furniture, new drapes... you name it.

Some people frantically clean their homes when stressed. Some redecorate. Some cook. Some go on vacations. But an awful lot of us go shopping. Whenever I have had a shock, or a fight with a loved one, or a nasty surprise, or suffered a loss, I am simply incapable of doing anything at all until I have made it into a store and bought something. Only then am I purged of my sense of panic, only then does the adrenaline stop coursing through my veins, only then can I finally make it home and collapse into a chair and rest. And the bigger the stressor, the bigger the bills.

Yes, it's counterproductive, to say the least! But let he or she among you who has never scarfed a box of chocolates cast the first stone! We all have our dark secrets... I'm talking about mine in an attempt to gain some sort of control over it. Now, the last thing I need is more criticism, by the way, lest you be tempted to "tut-tut" me and tell me I shouldn't do this. I already know that - telling me off only reinforces the feeling of being trapped, helpless, and frantic.

I have several Girlfriends who have trouble with food. Specifically, they restrict their food intake to the point where it is unhealthy. As any of you who have seen my physique know, that has never been my problem! I have other girlfriends who not only restrict their intake, but who exercise and work their bodies beyond reason (in my opinion). Interestingly, they are all good with money. As if it's either/or: in fact, if I could only develop their particular neuroses, my life would theoretically take on a healthy glow! I'd lose weight, I'd be in shape, and I'd pinch my pennies along with the best of them! Until, that is, I ended up in the hospital being force-fed...

Actually, the past couple of days I have not had an appetite. I've made myself eat because I knew I should, but for no other reason.

I've not had much energy, either. Home all day today, basically went from bed to kitchen chair to couch. Put nothing away. Did no quilting. Cleaned nothing. Cooked nothing. Didn't listen to music. Had the tv on but wasn't watching. Didn't even have enough determination to have a nap. No thrills, no excitement, no interest in doing anything. Basically, one of the worst days I've ever had. But quietly bad. No sobbing or theatrics. Just nothing.

I made myself go out after suppertime, did quite a lot of walking... but unfortunately brought my wallet with me...

And the rest is history.