Deep Rants, Lifestyle Rants, Witty Rants

Things.

I buy all of the things. The little things. The big things. The pricey things. The cheap things. The glittery things. The pink things. The inspirational-quote things. The sometimes useless things. The this-one-thing-will-transform-my-bad-day-into-a-good-day things. The this-thing-will-help-me-organize-my-disaster-of-a-life things. The I-work-hard-and-I-deserve-this things. The oh-just-one-more-wouldn’t-hurt things. The I’ll-need-this-someday-soon things.

Out of shame of raised eyebrows and “oh well, that explains a lot” type of comments from the ones that I care for, but mostly out of fear of forcing myself to hear my own dwindling truths, I’ve never once said this out loud nor have I written it for public display. Who wants the world to know their every failure, anyhow? Surely not me. I have a shitload of pride and I wear it like armor. But maybe it’s time to remove my armor and sustain the stabs of my reality. I watch way too much Game of Thrones, y’all.

My name is Ely and I’m an addict.

That may sound super cliche, especially to women who tend to so proudly claim to be retail queens and shopping addicts (oh, the luxury), but I find nothing beautiful, stylish, nor luxurious about my self-destructive spending habits, which have and continue to, do exactly just that: destroy my life.

I am addicted to spending and more often than not, I’m spending money that I do not even have to begin with, and at the worst imaginable moments possible. Do I live a decent life? Yes, absolutely. Do the bills and then some get paid? Yes, absolutely. But I’m a slave to my debts and I don’t know how to dig myself back out of this slick-walled hole that I’ve so stupidly, dug and thrown myself into. The fact is, I’m in debt over mostly stupidities and my lack of responsibility and common sense has left me simultaneously winded, and dumbfounded. I feel as if I’ve climbed out of my body, punched myself in the gut and then climbed back inside of my body only to laugh at myself, as I struggle to catch my breath in agony. You did this to yourself, asshole! I continuously tell myself.

My relationship with things is not only toxic but financially and emotionally complex beyond psychological dissection and yet I, as smart as I know that I am, continue to stick around even when it fails me, does me wrong, abuses me, lies to me, betrays me, hinders me, and continuously builds me up only to smash me back down to the ground again. And then there I am yet again, broken into a trillion little pieces trying to pick up my own messes and put my broken and broke pieces back together again. And everytime I’ve had to bend down to pick my pieces back up, I catch a glimpse of her reflection. I see her within myself. My mother.

You know, I’m not one to blame anyone for my self-inflicted fuckeries. But I am, despite my rainbows of colorful faults, a deeply intense and philosophical creature who understands a lot about life and I do truly believe that there’s a rooted reason for everything. I strongly believe that behind every sole decision that I’ve made throughout the course of my rollercoastering life; that behind every action I’ve taken which has ultimately led me to where I am today, to this very moment as I sit in the rambunctious Miami traffic beneath a steaming sun and crystal clear blue skies, there patiently stands an “oh! That makes sense…”  type of explanation or experience or something that will forever stream through my bloodline.

Something led me to this moment. Something led me to be a hustling mother with a formal job and a side hustle and another new business underway. Something led me to speak in the foul but passionate manners in which I speak. Something led me to find a home within my words; a safe haven within my writings. Something led me to behave the way that I do; to react the way that I do; to think in the strange and dark yet glittery and optimistic ways in which I do…. something. There was, is, and always will be- something.


I have crisp childhood memories of Sundays at home or rather, that place with walls in which I lived. Sundays, were the calm after the storm. When I woke up on most Sundays- after having slept an unhealthy few hours for a little girl- life was, well…quiet. I woke up at least knowing that my mother was alive and so I could breathe without the tension and the tightness in my chest. On Sundays I’d find that my mom’s pale complexion was often painted with blotches of purples and greens and sometimes, one of her eyes was black and swollen as if she had been stung by a bee. A 5 foot 8 inch bee with the fist of a man, that is. I know now that she must have woken up in severe pain, but I only cared that I still had a mom. I only cared that the repetitive dreams of  my mother dressed in a white gown, glowing with beauty and wearing the wings of an angel, floating down to me on a cloud and whispering that I would be OK– hadn’t come true yet.

Despite the broken furniture, fresh holes in the walls, floors buried beneath oceans of broken glass, and graveyards of chubby, naked body parts that were once the porcelain cherub angels my mom endlessly hoarded on shelves- my mom was alive and my dad was asleep in bed and it was a new day for them and for us. Everyone was alive and there was a dark sense of peace, even if for just the few days to follow, before the weekend came and he was off to do whatever he was doing that destroyed my mother from the inside out and could potentially get her killed. I would deal with that again over and over until my mother grew strong enough to leave him- but for now? For now it was finally Sunday again. Something to look forward to. Shopping.

Aside from a short-lived sense of peace, mostly because everyone was too physically and emotionally drained to speak, nonetheless fight- Sundays were my mother’s opportunity to escape and she took us with her. In retrospect, I imagine she hoped she could find some way to help us forget the hell she had just put us through, and she figured buying us stuff would be the answer. “Let’s go shopping,” she would say nonchalantly. “Grab my purse and count my stash.” And as if nothing had ever happened; as if my father hadn’t just almost left her lifeless on the cold, bitter floors of our home the night before; as if I hadn’t just been caught in the crossfires of their physical abuse, ignorance, and negligence and received blows to the head in the process as I cried and begged and screamed for them to stop; for him not to kill her after she had just slashed his right cheek with a knife ; as if he hadn’t pointed a shotgun to her and then shot holes in our walls; none of that mattered, nor needed to be spoken of. Just like that, we were off to go shopping. No explanations. No discussions. No apologies. No right now, all that mattered was that we were going shopping and things would be OK.

It was never really anything expensive. We weren’t rich by any means nor were we THAT well off to justify any kind of shopping that wasn’t vital but she didn’t care. More often than not we were hopping between secondhand shops, Goodwills, antique shops and garage sales. It didn’t matter what it was. Things made my mother happy. Things fixed EVERY-thing.  Things, healed her. Things, helped her to forget. The act of shopping gave her, and gave me, a sense of freedom from the realities of the life she was seemingly trapped in. Shopping, brought a sense of normalcy.  Feeling pretty, or having something pretty in her possession, made her life worth living- even if for that one day.

And so I understand now- why I am what and who I am and why I do the sometimes rather reckless things that I do. I am a reflection, to some extent, of my upbringing as we all are. I know better than to make the same mistakes my mother made, obviously. But there are times when that knowledge doesn’t seem to shake me back to reality. I’m impulsive and dramatic and I like to find ways to just forget rather than facing the real issues at hand and well, things help me forget like they helped my mother. There have been times when I have just wanted nothing more than to die- and by some sorcery, a meaningless and stupid thing may remind me that I’m beautiful and that I work too hard to just give up on my kids and on myself. It’s so deeply petty and ridiculous, I know this. It must be fixed, I know this. I suppose that’s why this all needed to be said.

They say the first step towards self-recovery for an addict is admitting that there is a problem. I think I’ve just done that here.

21 thoughts on “Things.”

    1. There really freaking is a saying for everything LOL 😂. Retail therapy is definitely a real thing on smaller and larger scales alike. Thanks for reading my friend xoxo 😘

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I think almost everyone has a tendency to want *things*…and to feel that little rush of joy when we make a purchase. I mean, we have all be trained by capitalism and advertising since we were toddlers!

    It sounds like you just have an extra push to want (need?) to buy things sometimes, and that will probably always be difficult to overcome. I am so sorry to hear about your childhood. Your poor mum! Your kidlets are so lucky that you turned out to be the awesome lady that you are!

    Lastly, I am not sure if it will help, but I have tried to re-train my brain to really value experiences over stuff. Now I know I get more pleasure from doing things than buying things. It can make it much easier to tell myself I don’t need something when I see an advert (or pretty shoes in a shop window.) Experiences can still make you poor though, so this is probably terrible advice! It’s just lots of the things I love to to (like walking) are free anyway…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Josy I can’t even begin to tell you how RIGHT you are about swapping things, for experiences. THAT is my goal. Seeking out a higher purpose even though LOL it will also cost money (if that means traveling of course) but it’s just so much more worth it and the therapy will be so much more valuable and long-lasting. I think starting small is important. Taking a meditative walk, is definitely up there on my list. I’d like to see how that makes me feel. I appreciate your comment and your love to the core!!!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. This post shook me to my core. You’re so incredibly brave for posting this. I know people will say things like “I can relate” and all that jazz. But there’s no true way to bridge that gap when you have suffered any kind of abuse or trauma because we all internalize it and feel it differently. What I can say is that I love you. I know that phrase gets tossed around too, but I love your spirit, your way with words, and your strength. This post was very moving. Sending good vibes and plenty of love.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Jenni thank you so much. You’re right- no one can truly every fully understand right? We all have our own stories and no two are alike. I appreciate the love- and I send it all right back at you! This was definitely not an easy post to write or publish but well- the show must go on! Your words are everything. Thank you again so much.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m so sorry you had to experience that as a child. I’m sure their is a lot you need to heal from still. I can relate to the addiction part. I suffered other things as a kid. I was bullied by almost every adult in my life over my weight and other things and so I became the very thing I was bullied about. You know when you’re told “you’re this and that” a million times? Well, fuck it right? I’m that so why take care of myself. I turned to food, emotional over eating and shopping as therapy. I accumulated so much shit. Literally junk, until I got with Ken. I’m still an emotional eater, which is something I struggle with everyday, because if I get stressed it’s the first thing I turn to. But with shopping, I’ve taught myself to be very intentional on what I buy. If it isn’t needed for my house, my animals, my kids, or even myself I will not buy it. If it doesn’t have monetary value I can cash out if I ever need to in the future, then nope. I have thousands of dollars in fabric and machines and sewing tools and it’s the only thing I will indulge in shopping because I see it as a utility for me and my family. I also have the support of Ken on it, because like I said, I make things for my home and family. Sometimes I go over board and it stresses me out! I’m happy that you are able to take a step back and see it for what it is. It’s taken me years to get over my grudge with the people in my life who hurt me so deeply. They don’t even know how much they hurt me, I’ve forgiven them because I don’t want to continue hurting myself mentally. We get to be the ones who break the cycle! Sending you lots of hugs and good vibes! Love you!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you my dearest cousin!!!!! It’s tough having a relative read this you know? But I’m not afraid of my truth. Thank you for Sharing a bit of
      Yours as well. You know how I fucking feel about you- you’re basically Wonder Woman, and I will forever love and admire you as a mom, a woman, a human. Thank you again for your words. You are so phenomenal dude. You inspire me. Seriously.

      Like

    1. Lol thanks for your comment Tony. Luckily, my home is clutter and hoarder free. I am really good about that and I don’t think I’d ever get to that point where it’s like an episode of Hoarders. Oh dear god no! I’m not at that level hahaha.

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  4. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to process through all of this on your screen. At the same time, I really hope that it was, at least, in some ways cathartic. You’re incredible and you’re an inspiration. Just thought you should know.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Little me? An inspiration? You are too much for saying that. I appreciate you! I do! It means the world to have anyone say that to me. Thank you SO much.
      You know…
      I’ve re-read this post a good 7 times and my eyes have watered at my own words, each time. It’s surreal…facing yourself from within. It’s scary. It’s sad. And it’s also, strengthening and inspirational. Is that weird? To inspire YOURSELF as well? I am so raw and fleshy with my confessions that it’s almost as refreshing as it is embarrassing. There is no more room on this planet for liars and fakes. I embrace whatever the hell I am. Good and bad! Xo!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I don’t think it’s weird to inspire yourself. When I look back on pictures of me from a few years ago when I was in better shape having just finished a 10k… well, I’m not inspired. But I’d like to think there’s potential for past Aaron to inspire present or future Aaron to get off my butt and hit the treadmill again. Maybe eat a salad once in a while…

        I hate to do it, but I do have to disagree with one thing… There will always be plenty of room in this world for liars and fakes. Deception is so prevalent around us, sometimes it can be hard to see the truth as it really is. That’s why I think it’s so important to have people like you out there who are willing to freely speak your mind and not hide behind some facade that makes things out to be a way that they’re not. Sometimes the truth isn’t pretty, but I’d rather have an ugly truth than a beautiful lie. You keep doing you and you’ll keep on having people in your corner cheering you on.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You are right, I was wrong about the whole not having room for fakes and liars. Clearly there is room. They’re everywhere! lol. You should most definitely look back and re-inspire yourself Aaron! Why not!? If you did it once, there’s no way in hell you can’t do it again! You know better than that, come onnn! Thank you for always cheering me on!!!! I have the truest of friends here. I may not write for a while and I may be SO BEHIND on reading blog posts but I will never leave wordpress just because these friendships mean so much to me.

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