It’s strange how I (and anybody else suffering from depression, for that matter) can bounce from being okay (well… as okay as one can be when they’re suffering from depression) to falling down a bottomless pit in a matter of minutes.

What triggered it this time?

In a word: clothes shopping.  (Okay, yeah, that’s two words.  So sue me.)

The Hubby and I went out for brunch on Friday after I took the kids to school and he went to a meeting at the Job Centre.  I mentioned to him that I really needed a new winter coat.  I have one that’s still wearable, but it’s about 6 sizes too big.  I bought it years ago, back in the U.S., and it was too big for me when I bought it, but I have a problem: I tend to hide in my clothes.  I’m actually a size 20, but I’ve had a habit for years of buying clothes that are a size 24, 26, and even 28.  I can’t remember what size this coat actually is, but it’s huge. 

He suggested I look online.  There’s a particular catalogue that I’ve had some relative success finding decent clothes from.  So after we went home from brunch, I logged on to their website (I needed to pay some money off my account anyway).  I was shocked to discover that they’d raised my credit limit from £150 to £350.  (I suspect that it’s partly due to the way I’ve been paying my bill – I pay my monthly payment plus whatever interest they’ve charged, and then 2 weeks later I pay the same amount again.  Last month, for example, my monthly payment was £7, and they charged me $5.20 in interest.  I rounded that up to £6; so my payment was £13.  I paid that twice, for a total of £26.  When you consider the only amount I HAD to pay was the £7… I think that’s pretty good.)

So when I saw that, the stereotypical woman inside my head screamed out “SHOPPING!!!”  So not only did I order my coat, but I also ordered a skirt, a top, a pair of shoes (trainers – I desperately needed a new pair), a new wardrobe for Hub & I, and also a wardrobe for the Terror Twins (my 2 youngest – I call them that because whenever one of them starts trouble, the other one gets right in with them).  That’s one big complaint I have about the houses out here in the UK – there’s no such thing as a closet.  Even if you find what could ostensibly be called a closet, it’s either filled with shelves or it’s just empty.  If you want to hang up your clothes, you have to buy a wardrobe – or get creative.  In our old house, we fixed hanging rails to the walls because we couldn’t afford to buy wardrobes at the time.

That was Friday.  Most of my order (with the exception of the wardrobe I’d ordered for Hub and I) arrived yesterday.  So I tried on the clothes.

And dissolved into tears.

See, I’d ordered the skirt in a 20.  Strangely enough, it’s actually quite loose.  Not so loose as to be technically considered too big, but there’s definitely some give in there.  But I ordered the top in a 24.  I wanted to make sure it was long enough to cover my monstrosity of a belly (God’s punishment for having 4 kids??).  Not only is it NOT long enough to cover my stomach, but it’s so tight in the arms that it’s damned near cutting off my circulation.

WTF???

Skirt – size 20 = LOOSE.  Top – size 24 = TIGHT????

How the f*ck does that work???

I’m just so frustrated.  I HATE clothes shopping.  I didn’t used to hate it – actually, I rather enjoyed it.  But then, for some reason, sizes in the U.S. actually fit the size on the label.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve picked up an item that SAYS it’s a size 20 but there’s no way in hell it’s any bigger than a 14.

I’m just so frustrated.  As I said to Hub today, when things like this happen, it makes me literally want to stay in the house and never leave it.  I mean EVER.

He doesn’t understand why I say I feel like a freak.  When a skirt in a size 20 is too loose and a top in a size 24 is too tight, how can he NOT understand why I feel like a freak?

Let’s face it.  I AM a f*cking freak.