Sticky Fingers

Let us get one thing clear as I begin this story- I hate stealing. The thought of it, the consequences of it, and the guilt I feel afterwards. I feel like an absolute piece of crap after everything is done, and my downfall has me huddled in my bed for days ugly crying and eating bags of chocolate because I came so far to be where I am, only to steal a bit of money to drop back down to a darker level that I did not want to be in the first place.

There is something wrong with me, I know it. I know it isn't right to take money or items (my main issue is money). I know I work my ass off to make that piddling minimum wage every two weeks, so why do I need to steal more money, when I already have that paycheck in my bank account?

One reason is because it is a thrill for me. Well, when I was younger it was an absolute adrenaline high. I would steal little things like candy, lip balm, nail polish, earrings, keychains. Just to walk out of the store and see if I could get away with it. Just to see if the employees or my mom would catch me. Alot of times I did, but the few times I would get caught, it was always by my mom, and she would make me return the item, and then ask me why did I think I could do that, and I would always end up telling her that I didn't know, because I didn't really want it, and that I wasn't really thinking about what would happen if someone saw me take the item. When you're little, who really zones in on that kinda stuff unless you're a troubled youth from a backwoods family or a family who didn't give two shits about you, and you were only doing it for their attention?

As I grew into my teens, it wasn't bad. I maybe took a few things tops, because I mostly spent time out and about in the garden at my grandparents house, and was always traveling or working some sort of odd summer job to where the temptation of stealing money or trinkets were put on the back burner of the wood stove in my brain.

Adulthood was another story. The sticky fingers went full fledged, gung ho, I'm gonna show these mother effers who they are messing with kinda crazy. There were situations where work places wouldn't advance me in a certain area, or they would feed me a line of bull crap telling me they didn't have enough hours to schedule me or even move me into a different department, but a few days later, they would be interviewing or even introducing me to someone that would be working the said position that I wanted.

I've stolen an exes debit card and pulled almost all of his money out simply because he cheated on me; ended up returning it after he broke up with the girl for cheating on him, but it was too late by then, the damage was done and our friendship was over and I spent a year in jail.

I've even stolen from an employer upon returning back to work because he was a dick anyways, but he had given me several reasons to be spiteful to him, two of which were he wouldn't let me have Christmas off one year, and even though I had to take it off due to being sick with strep throat, he didn't believe me or the hospital note I brought in; and he also accused me of lying about my mother having a diabetic issue so I could get out of work early. Had to ask for her consent just to prove that I wasn't lying.

So, yeah. As you can see, my sticky fingers are of a spiteful nature, and I hate it. I don't like being unappreciated, overlooked, or thinking that I have been one wrong. At the same time, I hate that I know stealing is wrong, yet I still do it because it is still some type of thrill to me to give my employers a big old "F YOU" because I felt as if they didn't see my potential. Same goes for the ex. I know that it is wrong, and once the repercussions happen, and I suffer the consequences, I tell myself that I need to stop, and I realize that I indeed have a mental issue. Why keep self destructing when I know I am better than this? Why keep worrying about things I can't control for others, yet I can control what goes on with me? I've slowly over time figured out that my issue is indeed a mental one, and I'm proud to say that counseling has been a great way to get through the roots of what has started all of this.

I still hate myself for having sticky fingers. If I'm gonna keep those, I want them to be from a maple glazed doughnut, so it will be a happy thing in life, and not a step back into a depressive and dark pit of my own destruction.