Idon't make a secret of the fact that I have PTSD from my old career. I've talked about it here. I'm open about it on social media, and I volunteer my time as a facilitator for a PTSD support group. I've lived with it for close to 30 years — hell, given my relationship with my mentally abusive father (he's dead, I win), it's arguable that I've been stuck with this bullshit for my entire life. Back in the day, I used to drink hard. I'm pretty sure that I was trying to eat myself to death for years. But I gave those things up for someone I found I wanted to be around. But there's always been one vice I haven't been able to shake. It's a monkey that has its fingers firmly buried in my shoulders.

Shopping.

Crazy, right? For a long time, I thought I did it to make myself feel better: I work h

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