Compulsive Shopping

Shopaholic I'm a shopaholic. There's absolutely no getting around it. For years I managed to justify my new Tommy Hilfiger jeans, Gap sweaters, and shiny new gadgets with excuses like "I need them for work" or "Everyone else has one, why can't I?" I went on giving excuses, buying completely unnecessary, expensive stuff, and never really giving it much of a second thought until it finally caught up to me one day last May, and I was forced to see how my actions were affecting my future.

I'd had a horrible day at work. My boss had criticized my latest project, saying it was "amateurish" and suggested that I focus a little more seriously on my career (ouch!) and I was feeling more than a little depressed. So naturally, I went shopping. I didn't even think about it. I was knee deep in the sale rack at my local department store less than ten minutes after leaving work.

By the time I stumbled in my front door, it was four hours later, and I was so heavily weighed down by bags that my muscles in my thighs were throbbing. The trouble was, I didn't really feel much better. As a matter of fact, I felt a little.. ashamed. This was no way for a mature, intelligent woman to act. I could probably have used the time to go over my trashed project, or at least let some steam off with some friends.

Now I had a substantial pile of new sweaters, three pairs of low-rise blue jeans that I would never wear, and a fantastic new pair of pumps, but I'd traded it for my self-respect. As I started to flip through my mail, I thought I couldn't feel any worse. I was wrong. At the top of the pile was my newest VISA bill. I gingerly opened it, expecting to see my usual bill of about $500.

Instead, I saw line after line of black ink, each corresponding directly to something new in my closet. There was the $125 pair of new boots at Aldo. A $76 pair of pants and JC Penny. And worst of all, a $239 bill from my little indulgences at Victoria's Secret. What was I thinking, anyway? Who honestly needs that much lacy underwear? All in all, the VISA bill came to about $2,100. I felt sick.

How was that possible? When had I spun so completely out of control? Actually, come to think of it, my boss had given me a fair bit of criticism lately. And every time I'd heard from her, I would head to the mall to spend most of the night shopping. The next day she'd criticize me again for not working the evenings that were needed on the new project. Perfect.

Not only did I have a $2,100 VISA bill that I couldn't pay, my shopping was probably going to get me fired. So how could I stop? I once stumbled across some advice for shopaholics on the Internet. The advice, to say the least, left a little bit to be desired. Here's an example: "If you spot something that you would like to purchase, never allow yourself to purchase it on the spot" (Pagewise). Sure.

I thought to myself, "I may as well just stop world hunger this instant, and never allow myself to eat another morsel of carbohydrates ever again. Not going to happen. Ever. OK, well maybe with the help of a couple of angry, rabid pit-bulls in front of the sale rack it might happen. But otherwise, not a chance." I sat on my couch and thought about the state of my life: I was in a lot of trouble, and it was all my own doing.

Luckily for me, as I was sitting in front of the computer after getting that massive VISA bill, I decided to do a little research on compulsive shopping. I fit the descriptions to.