"This book is on sale. All the books are on sale because I have a staff discount. Also, I have a different book by the same author on my shelf, collecting dust for a little less than three years now."

Although the author was awarded the booker prize for this book, I slowly, quietly put it back on the shelf.

My coworker notices and offers me a sixty percent off of the title. That seals the deal. And now that I am getting one book, obviously, it's okay to buy two more.

I go home 70 percent happy, 20 percent ashamed, and 10 percent determined to start reading at least one of the books I just bought. All three of them join my latest to-be-read pile. The other stacks of unread books stare at me accusingly. This makes me more ashamed. And since I cannot afford sadness at this time, I promptly order snacks.

I spend the next week as a decent, non-impulsive human being. No impromptu book hauls, buying just one newly released, illustrated poetry collection. The colours remind me of a scarf that I resisted buying a few days back. I tell myself that matching my current read with my scarf is the most idiotic idea I have ever entertained. However, one of my other personalities convince me that Luna Lovegood would have done it.

Thinking of Luna makes me want to read the Harry Potter series for the umpteenth time. And that is exactly what I do because no one says "no" when Hogwarts calls. My four to-be-read piles (sorted by genre) slowly give up on me.

Growing up with too many restrictions, the lack of supervision in every aspect of my life is a newfound novelty to me. I start to notice it in small and unexpected places, for example buying three cotton candies instead of one and not hearing a single complaint about it or sending friends presents without having to explain the occasion. I suddenly find that I can buy a book just because I want to read it, no debate on the justifiability of the price tag necessary.

It is marvelous but at the same time, a bit damaging. It is gratifying to be able to treat myself with the things I adore. The problem is that I adore a questionable amount of things. And after a certain period of time, it becomes rather draining.

I realise in this whole ordeal that when I say no to myself, I still talk to my parents. In my head, I copy the way they spoke to me when they denied me a book, a trip or a device I desperately wanted. The "no" came from a place of control so it was very easy to lose said control.

So, it became significantly easier to refrain from making impulsive, unnecessary purchases when I accepted the fact that I was saying no to myself, and not to the ghosts of the past.