Hi my name is ****, and I am… hey nice shoes!

There is a moment in an addict’s life where something either trivial or significant flicks the switch in the head transforming denial into realisation. This epiphany can come in so many forms, be it a smoker’s baby being diagnosed with asthma or even a compulsive Second Life player’s mother calling upset that they haven’t spoken in two years because the phone line is always engaged.

Today the previously unthinkable occured to me and I have had to admit, “My name is ***. I am an addict.”

I opened my monthly bank-statement this morning (a task I take great pains to avoid at all costs as I do not understand money and save all that I can knowing that if it is in a separate place which involves heavy administration to access, I am safe from myself). I earn enough for a girl of my current circumstances but although I am only a couple of hundred pounds into my overdraft, I have calculated that I have a worrying £250 a month habit.

ASOS.com.

Even as I type I am wearing the earrings that arrived in conjunction with my bank statement, in some bitter irony that in opening my bank statement before I open the neat little packet, the contents are tarnished with guilt.

It is the convenience of internet shopping that I blame. The fact that after your first purchase, all your delivery and debit card details are logged in so you never have to fish out your card again if you know the security code by heart as I do. It is that first purchase that sells your soul to the devil. That single click “Proceed”. Bish bash bosh! You are down £60.00 plus delivery and you didn’t even have to exchange sneers with a lofty shop assistant, queue for a changing room booth or even tackle the weight of bags, purse, reciept and change when the act of purchasing takes place. No I was sitting behind my desk at work using the clever foil of “doing my invoices” as a cunning ruse.

Bob’s your uncle, I am home on Thursday and Christmas has come early as I am welcomed back by little monochrome boxes and packets with all my purchases wrapped lovingly in tissue paper so I can ceremoniously unfold each layer with childish anticipation from the comfort of my own bedroom.

It is all of the seven deadly sins plus bonus sins for how sinful the whole cursed affair is.

Greed – I want those Mary Jane patent leather stilettos. I WANT them!
Lust – Oh I would look so hot in that silk cami, Narcissus eat your heart out, I would look GOOD!
Envy – I bet I’d look better in those skinny, distressted jeans than that tarty no-bottom model.
Sloth – I can’t be arsed to wait until my birthday to ask a nice relative for some nice jewellery. OH, those sterling silver hoops would look perfect with my patent stilettos and silk cami!
Gluttony – More £10 clearance wedges! More, more, MORE!
Wrath – CURSES! They only have the pink ballet pumps in sizes three and nine! Oh I hate the whole world!
Pride – I am so proud that I bought seven separate items and none of the cost more than £15 each.

Its a slippery slope and now I have admitted my addiction iit will be no easy feat fighting it. I must preserve my soul and go to confession i.e. open my bank statements and actually get an advice slip when I go for a cash withdrawal.

But with my addiction, unlike all others, if I do fall of the wagon and end up destitute with no home, no food and no money – at least I’ll look good!

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