It’s been a month since the Mother’s Day incident and I don’t think insomnia is my only PTSD symptom.

In the weeks following the incident, I’ve developed a shopping compulsion. It started with buying things to pamper myself—from a large bed pillow, complete with pockets and its own lumbar pillow, to an iPhone 13 Pro which I lost at the Something in the Water music festival. Whenever I go out, I buy something. I’m concerned because prior to May 8, 2022, I was always frugal and cautious with my coins.

Now, it’s like I can’t stop myself. Whenever I see something I like, I have an incredible urge to get it. Of course, these are items I can afford (for now), but what happens if I can never return to my old habits? I don’t want to end up broke or homeless due to my own actions. I don’t want to be a hoarder. And I damn sure don’t want my boyfriend to say I’m not wife material because I’ve been spending so crazily.

According to Psychology Today, “Compared to healthy controls, first-degree relatives of people who sho[p] compulsively are more likely to have the same condition or other mental health issues such as anxiety disorders, mood disorders, and substance use disorders.”

My mom did shop manically in the last years of her life. I remember asking her why she spent so much money on things instead of being content with our current possessions. She never had an answer. I’ve been through too much trauma in the past two years. From losing her, to the instant decrease in household size, to the flood in my apartment last fall, and more recently, witnessing a loss, then being pickpocketed at the music fest. I don’t feel safe in the world. I didn’t before because of the countless atrocities against Blacks, but now my faith in mean world syndrome is on full blast!

So I bought a bat. I saw it resting with another on an arm chair inside a vintage shop. I made a reminder to come back for it. I instantly knew it was what I wanted, what I had to have.

While getting lunch at a nearby restaurant, my Apple Watch noted the increase in my resting heart rate: 131 BPM. I remember feeling anxious about getting the bat.

Thoughts like, ‘It will keep me safe. I can use it if someone tries to rob me. They will be afraid of me,” raced through my mind.

I’m going to chat with my therapist about my spending habits and ask for tips to snip it at the bud.