y the time the babies came along, the first credit cards had been canceled by the gasoline company. We had been late with our payments quite a few times and had even missed some along the way. Now who would've thought a big company with all that money would demand that we pay them back. . . in full. . . every month?? Not to worry, though. In addition to a nice assortment of gasoline cards I had added every department store card in southern California.

It was so easy. If a particular store didn't automatically send me a preapproved set of cards in the mail, all I had to do was pick up an application in the store. It became a game not unlike collecting baseball cards. I was compelled to acquire one each of every charge card available. You must understand that I never applied for the cards because of any specific purchasing plan but instead for the security I thought they would bring to our lives. I rationalized we needed them in case of emergency. Little did I know that the very things I thought would provide security were to become the catalyst of crisis.

Harold was soon promoted into middle management with a large, prestigious California bank. I could not have been prouder! One of the items in his benefit package was a totally unsolicited handy new device - a bank card with a very nice line of credit. Now, not only was I "entitled" to all the gas I could use, between the department store cards and the bank card I was prepared for any kind of unforeseen need. And unlike the gasoline companies, the others didn't require full payment each month. These companies were quite pleased to allow a small payment each month; in fact they all but pronounced a blessing over me each and every month.

Soon I found my life filled with many little emergencies. Often these "emergencies" were manufactured from my poring over department store ad magazines which would show up in the mail. My overactive mind and impulsive tendencies would join forces to convince me of an urgent need. I would become privately fixated on a certain item and could not relax until I found a way to get it. I felt a certain, albeit temporary, high when I bought the latest in kids' clothing or GI Joe "men" for my boys. I felt greatly justified in spending huge sums in fabric stores. I would buy everything needed for project after project, the justification being that I could make all kinds of clothes and decorator items for much less than ready-made. In reality very few of the projects ever materialized and the goods became obsolete, eventual donations to the less fortunate.

And the best part was the more I used those cards and continued paying the minor monthly minimums, the better standing and status I had. Why else would they keep increasing my limits? When the bank card limit reached the four-figure mark I just knew they thought I was fantastic. And I was certainly keeping my promise. I was not poor and my kids did not wear clothes from the thrift store. We showed real well!

Shopping became easier in the seclusion and comfort of my home. With a phone in one hand and a mail order catalog in  the other I was able to create Christmas for myself and my children any time I had a whim. I realize now that I was attempting to go back and fix my own childhood by giving my children all the clothes, toys, and attention I missed. I was trying to fill a void by giving-gifts which were bigger and better than the recipient could believe. I was making up for what I lacked, fulfilling my vow that my kids and I would never be poor and that I would always have the approval and acceptance of my friends - even if I had to buy it. I lived out the only agenda I knew: External appearances are all that is important. Anything going on inside that conflicts with a perfect facade must be ignored, denied and put aside.

My instruments of entitlement were not limited only to credit cards. I had a checkbook. While I considered credit card spending long term deferment (like hundreds of years from now), writing checks was short-term deferment. Often I would neglect to record checks I wrote. It was safer that way because Harold couldn't track my spending. His unobservant temperament became my ally. I could all but redecorate the entire house and he wouldn't notice.

I worked under the philosophy that somehow by the time the check was ready to clear I would magically come up with funds which I could sneak into the bank! Of course it never happened, but still I would write checks, often with reckless abandon. One of two things happened over and over again. Either I would overdraw the account or bring the balance down so low that when Harold went to pay bills there was no longer enough to get us through the month.