“Nothing is enough for the man to whom enough is too little.” —Epicurus
it wasn't so long ago that I was filling our house with stuff.
things I've seen on TV, in magazines, on other blogs.
I'd spend my days off going from store to store, looking for my happiness.
bag after bag into my trunk.
my happiness still sits in those bags:
unpacked, out of the way, taking up space in my mind.
I knew I was going through something, I knew I was filling a void.
see, I'm a thinker, an idea girl.
I see things, I re-imagine things, I want things.
what I don't want to do is deal with my sh*t.
I don't want to sit and think about my depression.
I don't want to deal with my food issues.
I tell myself that if I fill my days with busyness, I will be fine.
my problems will disappear, my issues won't weigh me down so much.
I will be a perfect example of someone living with depression and kicking ass.
but that's not true.
it only works for a minute.
it only works for as long as the high of the purchase "fills the void",
and then I have more issues,
because now I have many BIG bags of stuff that seemed great in the store, but I really don't have room for it.
I fill up physical space, to lessen the mental space
it doesn't work
it creates more work
know your enough in physical possessions
know your enough in matters of heart
know your enough, because we truly don't need stuff to define who we are