Feeling Down

Originally written 11/19/18.

I am sad. The sadness is heavy, like a blanket. It rests on my head, on my eyes, the bones of my face, my hands. The sadness is confusing. It has me turning around from one activity to the next, seeking, searching for some unknowable treasure that will cure me. My heart is heavy. Each beat feels dull, almost painfully inevitable. I sit/fall into a chair, my legs splayed, hands limp in my lap. My head lolls to the side, pulled ever downward by the weight of despair. The future feels grey and empty. There is nothing there to grasp at, nothing to pull me through.

I am sad. Sometimes the feelings rise up in my throat to choke me. The invisible hand that grips my neck tightens its grasp and I well up, defeated. I am dead-weight, hanging by the fact of my existence, unsure of any reality besides that. The tears track icy trails down my face. Angry, I swipe at my eyes, but they refuse to dry. In this place of despair, there is nothing besides me and the four walls of the room. I am trapped in a living hell. 

I am sad. Questions rise up from somewhere below my heart. Why? Why me? Why now? And, how long? There are no answers. Only silence. So the questions repeat themselves. Why? Why me? They sail upward into the black like smoke from a flame, wisped away by unseen currents as if they had never been.

Sometimes I pray. It’s hard to pray - hard to find the will to move towards the siddur, take it off the shelf. Sometimes I pray in my mind. Sometimes I whisper the words that my heart feeds me, prayers for help, for salvation, for anything hopeful. Hope is an elusive being, which, like light, fills the space its in. Where hope is, there’s little room for sadness. And so I pray for hope. The prayers don’t leave. Instead they fill my heart, ballooning outward until the knot of pain can’t reach the walls of my chest. I can breathe now. The air revives me. It tastes sweet, like mothers’ milk. I hold that on my tongue and allow my mind to settle, relaxing outward, beneath the weighty blanket that still enfolds us.

Yes, I am still sad. I still don’t know why, why me, but I’m thinking that it doesn’t matter. The sadness simply is. I observe it with still, patient eyes, eyes still wet, but no longer crying. I write about it. I notice how I can shift beneath the weight, learning the contours of the pressure. Here it weighs more, here it weighs less. I lift my chin. My spine straightens.

I am sad, and I am also okay. 

Shopping Woes

Tight finances have been an unfortunate reality for most of my life. A frum lifestyle, complete with multiple children, will do that to even the best prepared.

So what's with my shopping patterns?

I'll describe them for you. I finish browsing my email and all the news sites and social media. Then I turn to my 'promotions' box. There I find a favored site broadcasting a fantastic sale, and I must go see how low the products actually are. Lo, I find something I like, and you can't beat the price. So I buy that. But while browsing, I discover a different product that I really want. I begin shopping around until I find the best possible price on Amazon. I buy that too. Amazon shows me some related products, and I'm hooked.

That's one scenario: classic advertising tactics working like a charm. There are others, but I won't waste your time. There are the non-compulsive, "necessary" purchases. There are Amazon products that I never get around to returning. You get the idea.

Most of my compulsive shopping takes place online, where simple clicks lead to purchases, many of them unnecessary. It's no wonder that my husband moans over the credit card bills. I mean, did I really need another tube of lipgloss? "But it was only $3.99!" Yeah, and such things add up shockingly fast.

I know I'm not the only one struggling with this. I also know that 'this' could be rightly termed an addiction. I could qualify for Shopaholics Anonymous. I'm not going to go. I have nothing against 12-step programs. In fact I've enjoyed and appreciated my experiences with Al-Anon. The reason I'm not going to go is because despite bulging credit cards and a stressed-out husband, I can't bring myself to take the matter seriously. I tell myself I'm not that bad. I don't go out and spend $800 in a single shopping spree. I'm not 'out-of-control'.

Am I?

Oh yes. I am.

That there is the issue. I'm supposed to be a mature adult. I'm responsible for the wellbeing of others. There are words we use to describe the qualities of a good homemaker. 'Responsible' is one of them. 'Effective' is another. How can I be effective when I lack discipline? And if I'm lacking in fiscal discipline, in what other areas am I falling short?

These are challenging questions. It could be that I don't take the shopping issue seriously because I don't want to confront these bigger questions. I don't want to look in the mirror. But at the same time, I pride myself on being one of those people who values health and continued growth. Something doesn't add up.

In how many ways do I delude myself? I say it's ok to buy one more tube of lipgloss. I say the small numbers don't count. I tell myself I'm in control of my shopping. I have enough discipline to be effective. And yes, I value growth.

But I recognize the issues. They torment me like shadows that refuse to fade. I know that for me it is a victory to close a tab, abandoning a shopping cart filled with bargains.

So I close out Coldwater Creek, and Cents of Style, and H&M... and I congratulate myself on a victory for today.