ADDICTED (by Isabella Fels)

Hiding in the closet is a parallel universe. Not only have I collected objects from many different countries, but my shopping feels surreal too like from outer space. It is like a frantic race to snap up a bargain or seize the goodies before anyone else does. As my psychiatrist states I am completely driven. I simply do not make a choice. I absolutely hate to miss out on my heart’s desire or even worse get my heart broken over the missing item. This tears away at and hurts my poor insides. I am then left totally beside myself as I sigh over not only lost products but missed opportunities.

I have gone way above and beyond the high shopping experience. I feel almost like an addict shooting up. My shopping is tremendous. I have pulled out all stops. I have duplicated and continuously multiplied with all my many cheap Gucci and Chanel imitations. However, I know the top designers’ names even better than many of my usual everyday contacts.

Being a hoarder, I hang onto everything. In total I have a graveyard of little black dresses. Tons of white shirts to see me through deserted on an island. A treasure chest of jewellery. A hide of knickers. And yes, I love playing dress up to the hilt with all my sky-high stilettos which give me a real lift as I shift around from shop to shop.

However, many of my items lie idle as I relentlessly go shopping with no rest for the wicked. Things get finger looking good as I go not only for the expensive hand creams but all the many miracle creams which promise youth and eternity. In many ways my shopping reaches infinity. It is like an endless road as I go along. However things though get sticky when the shop assistants get tricky and make me spend my entire income on unnecessary objects that end up making me tear my hair out and scream blue murder when I come back home. Such horrors have been flimsy dresses fit enough only for a tiny young thing with no tit or extra bits of fat hanging out.

However apart from the cost there is absolutely no space for anything in my tiny apartment. Everything is tight and jam packed as I keep striving to get my whole look right. I live in a jungle and almost drop my entire bundle and not just at the cash register. At home I then nearly trample over all of my many one off designer samples. I show no control or good example.

Shopping is like a refuge. I hover under my scarf and bag collection. I drown with all my bathers. I can barely cover up with my tiny bikinis and open vests. My shopping is completely obscene. At other times I hit rock bottom when my butt sticks out unflatteringly with too tight and heavy black leather mini skirts which drag me down

I have generally made a bad investment thinking I am going to lose weight buying things often up to two or even three sizes down. Shopping then becomes like a real beast to overcome. However, at other times I have a real feast indulging in all sorts of special items I can’t resist. The high again of shopping time after time and riding the great financial wave keeps making me want to persist.

However due to the lack of space I have had to bow to the wishes of of friends and family and say goodbye and good riddance to many jackets in particular which cost well over a monthly pay packet or the price of a great second hand car.

Many of these jackets hang in succession on the backs of all my chairs around the room in places where they should not be. The floor also has become a dumping ground. I am totally fazed by my whole shopping maze. I cannot get out of it. At other times I feel myself having a heart attack over all these many five hundred dollar plus jackets I have so painfully gained. All these jackets have strained and stretched me to the absolute limit.

I also feel out of control with my shopping such as when I bought a size six white shirt from a cunning size six shop assistant during the Christmas season when I was drunk and almost disorderly.

This particular shirt like many other items has not seen me through any Christmas in the last ten years and has definitely not made all my Christmases come at once. I also have woollens for at least five or even seven winters not to mention t-shirts and shorts for endless summers. Indeed, shopping leaves me under the weather. I can’t breathe with all my many stifling polyester tops.

And yes, I am a target wherever I go and get persuaded to grab everything I can find totally blowing out my budget acting like a millionaire rather than a disability support pensioner. This as well as showing champagne taste on a beer income as the shop assistants cheer me on gets the better of me. I am like putty in their hands.

However, I love the whole social experience and hopping from shop to shop till I almost drop. I just can’t stop even when my shirt buttons go pop

I even get excited too shopping at the supermarket particularly saving on all the specials. As I am given special treatment also in the designer shop I feel on top of everything, However then everything gets on top of me and not just the cursed tops which I cannot get over my head and the too tight or big shoes which don’t lead the way.

In many ways I am ahead of myself. As I go with the overflowing trolley shopping becomes almost like second nature. I show a total lack of common sense and real immaturity. I cannot part with my shopping cart either in real life or online. The goodies are too hard to resist and the adrenaline rush too lush to control.