A Kleptomaniac's Mind

ANONYMOUS

I

November 1. — Is that psychologist really right who says that theft is a universal instinct, inhibited by training, fear, pride, or will power? My parents were adamantine in their views of honesty, and my one whipping came from picking up a show bill from a neighbor’s yard. My own social and professional prominence should have brought fear and pride into my life as inhibiting agents. By my will power I have surmounted unusual difficulties in attaining my ambitions. Yet I am a shoplifter; in fact, I might be called ‘an old offender.’
To be sure, there have been periods in my life when I did not yield to this urge; when I even looked down on such acts with disgust, coupled with a feeling of my own lasting regeneration. Then suddenly would recur the inability to resist the lure of possession without payment. There may be a connection between these criminal lapses and the crises of a nervous trouble that is part of my physical life, for these kleptomaniac impulses seem to check up with my periods of physical instability. Lately the habit has clutched me terrifically, so that there seems to be no escape from its power. I pray for protection, for I know that I am helpless against it.
I pray on my knees at night, and the next day may see me at a counter waiting a chance. I have made an agreement with myself that I will stop when I reach twenty-five dollars. Yesterday when I passed the police station I had a convincing feeling that I should sometime see the inside of the room labeled ‘Desk Sergeant.’ Yet, while I see the result clearly, I have no power of lasting resistance to save myself. I did not go downtown to-day, for it was one of my hard days; but to-morrow I teach little and I know that I shall go.

November 2. — I came home to-day in high glee and satisfaction because I had taken articles worth ten dollars. This is my biggest day’s work. Some of these things I really wanted; others were simply easy to take. What shall I do with this marcel net? I do not wear my hair marcelled. I do not want this ring with the cheap imitation stone from the ten-cent store, for I have many valuable rings.
As I entered my room I said to myself, as to a second, a stay-at-home personality, ‘See what pretty things I have brought you.’ Then I took out the articles to gloat over their safe possession. I recall the cunning with which I covered up that set of Madeira napkins with a larger bundle as I lifted it. That store seems particularly easy for shoplifters, for the clerks are inattentive.
For several weeks now I have been doing this, yet have never had a glance of suspicion directed toward me in any store where I have operated. This may be due to the fact that I dress well and have a certain air of aristocracy which would mislead even an alert clerk. I am careful not to frequent any store too much, lest my face and clothes become familiar. This double life, however, is making me have a double face. My students have often told me that I have the look of a Madonna. To-day as I passed a store mirror I was shocked at the countenance under my hat. I admitted to myself, ‘You are a thief.’ This self-revelation, however, did not stop me.
I went over to the Big Store to a sale of stamped goods. I find safe pickings in advertised sales, where the clerks are often unable to cope with the crowds, and goods lie in tumbled disarray on the counters. To-day I facetiously called it a grab bag, as I saw the frantic efforts of the shoppers. I thrust my hand in under a pile as the crowd of women pushed me about. I made up my mind to keep whatever I grasped. When I pulled it out it was a fancy apron which, with its ribbons, was a bit hard to hide, but I escaped notice in the hurry.
I ordinarily have taken small things which could be covered with my palm or handkerchief or pouch bag. To-day I dared to take a package nightgown. I find that I take larger as well as more valuable articles. I wonder why I was afraid two months ago to take a paper of needles. It is so easy.
There is the bell. I must stop to go to my psychology class, where we have the chapter on habit. . . . I have just returned from class and have hidden in shame the things over which I gloated an hour ago. It was a terrible strain to teach that chapter on habit and its effect on character. There I stood as a highly erudite teacher, a model for my pupils. The scholar was in the ascendancy and I shuddered at the knowledge of my double complex. I fear for that higher self of mine.

November 4. — I find that I have gone beyond the twenty-five dollars which I had fixed as my limit. Since I have run so much above it, I think I shall move the goal to fifty. I keep an account of all I take, with the price, and call it my ‘uplift list,’ with a laugh at the irony. I read somewhere the other day that such computations of illegal gains were characteristic of the thief. I had a curious dream last night. I thought that Dr. Raines, the head of the school, whom I fairly worship, had accused me of stealing the reception-room rugs. (I have often coveted them, thinking how easily the small ones could be taken; in fact, it is becoming a habit with me to visualize the theft of desirable objects.) The dream was so vivid that I could not go back to sleep. Finally I rose and spent the time till dawn going over my uplift list.
The thought occurs to me that the Christmas rush and the inventory sales will help me complete my goal soon.

November 9. — I have not been off the campus for a week. I have been fighting desire, and have hoped to win, but to-day I feel too weak to resist the urge longer. I have no legitimate excuse to go to town, yet I know that I shall go; even though I am heartily sick of the whole business, wasting time at counters, living amid thefts which must be kept secret, piling up things of which I have too many already. I seem to have no self-determination left. Is this that habit of which I prate in psychology, or is it foreordination, dear to my Calvinistic forbears? Did God foreordain me to be damned? The solution of myself as a psychological and religious problem interests me as a psychologist, but it seems to be entirely out of my hands.

November 11. — I found a new article easy to take to-day. (In my thoughts, I always say ‘take,’ not ‘steal.’) After psychology, my great passion is music, and I have a large collection of phonograph records. It was while buying records to-day that it occurred to me to slip one in between the other stacks. To-day’s haul put me beyond the fifty mark. That means, of course, that I shall fix a higher goal, for I am beginning to lose faith in my goals as decisive stops; they have simply become incentives to take more things.
Thanksgiving Day. — The stores are closed to-day and I am glad, because I am beginning to dread my easy days. When I am busy, I forget the stores and their call. I have stayed at home almost two weeks because of examinations and the preparation of a paper for a state teachers’ meeting. When I gave this paper yesterday, Dr. Raines was quite happy over its reception, and told me how well my work was going. What if he should find out!

November 30. — I went downtown to-day on my usual errand, and tonight I have been ill — ill enough for a doctor. He said that my pulse was over one hundred and twenty and acted quite concerned. He laid it to my heavy school work, but I know better. It is associated with the whirl of excitement that accompanies my trips downtown. The habit is growing on me frightfully. I feel compelled to take something in every store I enter. I am depressed if I am unable to do so. It is just as if I were neglecting my duty. The mania is fairly driving me these days. I have now fixed on one hundred dollars as the ultimate limit beyond which I absolutely will not go. I must stop before something happens.

December 3. — I had to have some paper to-day, but I was afraid to go by myself to get it. So I hunted up Miss Peterson, one of the dorm teachers. I had never taken anything when in company with another person. To-day, however, when she was looking at powder, I covered a small box of rouge with my glove and picked it up, without detection. That was foolish, for I might have involved her. I wonder why I do this thing that will ruin me. My salary of twenty-five hundred cares amply for my present and future. Detection of my paltry thefts would mean disgrace to the school as well as to me. Yet it is apparent that I am losing fear. I am almost careless in taking risks, as is the way of the successful criminal. I call myself a lone wolf, a super-thief; yet I have the utmost scorn for anyone else who steals. I think I shall call a halt at seventyfive dollars, for I want to be free from this habit that is endangering my life.

December 5. — The thing has happened, at last, but not exactly as I had visualized it. It was much worse. It was quite different from that experience out West years ago, when a clerk asked me if I had not picked up a fifteen-cent handkerchief by mistake, and I put it back on the counter. Eastern stores must have a different way of dealing with such cases. This afternoon I had started to the library to read; but, finding it not yet open, I went to the basement of the Big Store and took five dollars’ worth of goods. Then I went back to the library, where I lost myself in a new work on psychoanalysis which had just come in. I knew that I had to quit at five to catch the suburban car. The car was late, they said, and my eye fell on the Big Store on the opposite corner. I became obsessed with the thought of a silk scarf which I had seen, although I already possessed two. I turned toward the store, disregarding an inner warning, for my continuous success conquered precaution.
I went to a counter where the clerks were busy. Another customer seemed to be examining the tumbled mass with me. At last I found the thing which had lured me back. A short moment of deliberation ended in decision. I laid my manuscript carrier on top of it, picked carelessly at the other articles in the heap, then lifted my stack and went toward the elevator, followed by the other customer. At the ground floor, I saw her glance quickly at my armload of bundles. It did not disturb me. I was just leaving the front door when I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard the words, ‘Excuse me, madam, did you not pick up something?’ I turned and saw the other customer, who, it appeared, was a professional shopper and store detective. She strong-armed me upstairs at the rear, despite my protestations of innocence and my promise to pay for ‘it.’ But the detective held me firmly, and we went on. It was all done in a very quiet way, and no one could have guessed that a thief had been caught; for rarely is the store detective known even to the clerks.
At last we reached the office, where an elderly and pompous man was seated. When I began by asserting that I was accused falsely, he interrupted with ‘Stop your lies.’ The detective searched my pockets, bag, and manuscript case, and of course found all my afternoon’s spoils. Why had I not been content with what I had taken three hours ago? I said that I had bought the goods. He sneered, ‘Then show your sales checks.’ Never before had I realized the value of sales checks.
At first I refused to tell my name and address, on account of the school, but he threatened me with a night in jail and police who would make me tell. That opened my lips. He promised to protect the name of the school. ‘An educated woman!’ he ejaculated. In my purse they found my deposit slip for my last month’s salary, still untouched. ‘Money in the bank and doing this!’ he said. By this time he had taken a printed form, filled it in with my description and answers, and handed it to me. The card says that you voluntarily acknowledge the theft of the articles listed, having received no promise of immunity. (The word ‘voluntarily’ is misleading, for you really sign it to avoid the threatened police.) It was a terrible moment, but I signed the card. All this time I was in terrified ignorance of what was to be done with me, and I was quite relieved when he said, ‘We are going to make you pay for these things.’ I gladly did this, although I wanted none of them enough to have bought them.
When I heard, ‘You may go, but let this be a guide to the future,’ I went out in a daze, looking nowhere lest I should see eyes, eyes. I felt as if I had been lashed. I had left my good name in that room on a card, and for what? For those things which the manager had made me take with me. Perhaps there was a psychological motive in his insistence, for I have thrown them back into a dark corner of my closet and never want to see them again. There is no gloating over them.
I am still weak from excitement. I shall have to take more luminal to make me sleep to-night. My heart is on a big rampage and every nerve is lashing. I have used a lot of luminal lately, much more than the doctor prescribed, for his dose did me no good. It is the only thing which will quiet my excitement, yet it may be weakening my will power.
Just now, it occurs to me that I should like to start out to hunt up another doctor who might give me a statement that luminal in overdose could explain my actions this afternoon. It is not yet nine o’clock and I might find some doctor at home. I think I could sleep better if I had such a statement in sight.

December 6. — I did find a doctor, an oldish man, who wrote out such a statement as I desired — that a dose of luminal in excess could explain my actions of yesterday. He thought it was my first offense, and I did not correct his impression. He had decided views on the dangers of luminal anyway; did not use it in his practice. He agreed that it might influence conduct. He charged me well for his opinion, but his statement is worth it and will surely go far in clearing my name at the Big Store.
I could hardly wait to take it to the manager, who seemed impressed and treated me with more respect than he did yesterday. The old doctor had given me a prescription for my shot nerves; and while it was being filled I picked up a framed motto card and a bottle of perfumery from the counter. My recent experience has affected me little, except to make me more cautious.

December 7. — I must get enough to balance the money I paid out to the old doctor for his statement. To-day I evened up almost a dollar by handkerchiefs which will go as Christmas presents to my laundress (since they are not my style). I can hardly sleep for the thought of that card at the Big Store. No one can ever realize what it means to sign such a card. The horror of it grows on me.

December 15. — I must get that card. I wake up at night repeating, ‘I confess that I did deliberately steal.’ I can never be happy in a town where I am card-indexed as a thief. I wonder who are my neighbors in that box! I must resign my position, giving health as a cause; but I want to take that card with me. I have not taken anything for a week.

December 17. — I spent last night rehearsing my speech. This morning before class I dressed in my most becoming clothes, made up my face to look my best, and went down to the Big Store, to ask the man for that card. He was simply wonderful, telling me not to explain, for it was evident that I was ill that day. (Yes, that doctor bill was well spent.) He said not to be foolish and resign, for no one knew of the affair.
Then we went up to that private office, full of shame to me, where he tore the card to pieces before my eyes, telling me to forget it, as he had. I took the pieces and put them in my pocket, for they may counterbalance the lure of the uplift list. Besides, in my possession, they surely can betray no secret. When I rose, he steadied me, for I almost fell from weakness. At the front door, he said, ‘Now will you have a Merry Christmas?’ I was so happy that I dropped a dollar into the Salvation Army kettle. I felt as if I had had a spiritual bath and could never steal again. When I got home, I fell on my knees and thanked God that He had made a man so good.

December 24. — When did I write last? Oh yes, when I was feeling so happy — so confident that the passion for taking things was cured in me. Victory over my besetting sin seemed so certain. It is no use. I cannot stop. I am still taking things, although I do keep clear of the big department stores, lest I get caught and my name be sent on a black list to the Big Store. I do not want to disappoint my Good Angel there. To-day, when I was buying records as Christmas gifts at a new music store, I passed a table where piles of them were displayed. Following my impulse, I picked up several which I stacked and then put my wrapped records on top. The clerks were busy and I went toward the door. All looked safe.
In the aisle a man, possibly the proprietor, asked me if I ‘got all I wanted.’ It was a common enough remark, such as any proprietor or clerk might make to a well-dressed customer; yet it had an ambiguous turn. I smiled assent and walked out as if in no hurry at all. Because of my doubt over the remark, I stopped in front as if to gaze at the window exhibit, but in reality to see if I was being followed. I soon felt safe in the stream of shoppers. I took the precaution of using an elevator in an office building, and after pausing awhile in a waiting room I came down by the stairs. I was suspicious when an alert woman stopped at the same windows as I did, and I was glad when I lost her on the other side of a car. I went over to the library and read psychology for three hours so zealously that I forgot completely about the records till I lifted them to leave. How heavy the bundle was! I wondered how many I had taken. On my way home in the car, by furtive glances, I figured that my haul to-day would surely even up that doctor bill for the statement.

January 4. — I have just returned from my Christmas vacation back home in Iowa. The folks thought I looked thin and harassed. They said that this school-teaching in the East must be nerve-racking, but they did not know that this shoplifting is worse. I am determined to keep out of the stores till I get over the habit.

January 8. — I had another alarming experience to-day. I had intended to stay at home for a month, but Miss Stein, the sick music teacher, wanted me to get some supplies at the music store. The table of records was still there. I bought some, but could not resist the old temptation. Miss Stein’s harmony book was big enough to act as a cover and I used the trick which had been so often successful. As I turned away, the clerk said, ‘You have too many records there.’ I acted surprised and laid the extra ones on the table. I did not fool him, however, for he added, ‘I have been watching you; in fact, I watched you the other day.’ I knew which day he meant, and I suddenly realized that he was the man who had accosted me in the aisle. He had suspected me of theft that day and had remembered my face and clothes. I hurried out with burning face. I bought a new hat to replace the rather conspicuous one which I wore, and was careful to come home by a roundabout way with several transfers to avoid being easily shadowed. I did not want him to know that I belonged at the school.

January 9. — I worried all night over this last escapade. I am wondering how much those music-store people know about me. They might be satisfied with showing me up yesterday; or again, they might wish to prosecute me for what I took the first time. I saw some gold-button men in the school building to-day, and almost died of fright till I saw that they were fire inspectors. I am sure that I must quit this bad business.

January 10. — Two days have passed, and no news from that store. They may have passed over the affair, or may have turned it over to the detective agency (for they are under police protection). It was not reported in the morning papers, although two lifters who had taken less than I have were in court charged with petit larceny. This made me tremble like a leaf as I read it. I have no appetite and look worn with suspense.
Yet I am beginning to hope that I shall be safe. I wrote a compact with God to-day, promising quite a sum to the church if He would save me from this mistake.

January 11. — I could not stand the dread of uncertainty longer. I have written a letter signed ‘ Conscience ’ and sent it to the music store with money covering what I have taken. Other letters will go to the other stores. That is where my uplift list came in handy. I already feel more quiet. I think that I can sleep to-night. To-morrow those ‘taken’ things will belong to me.

January 12. — I have destroyed the uplift list. There is no longer an evergrowing goal to be reached. My fears for my reputation are stronger than my desire for things. I am glad that God allowed me to be caught, for it was the only way to stop me. My will was not enough. The medicine had to be bitter to be effectual. I know that I shall never try shoplifting again. I am not superstitious, but I am afraid to be caught for the third time. I had proceeded on the theory that the other fellow is a fool — the theory of all thieves.
The evil of the crime has been branded on my heart, not by the eighth commandment, but through fear of the consequences to my health and professional standing. I know that you can’t win.

I have just finished reading the above pages. It seems as if they were the words of another person, surely not mine. I am feeling fine these days. No nights of hot wakefulness, no urge to possess. The luminal bottle is unopened. The school doctor is convinced that at last he has found the right medicine for my condition. I am quite sure that I have found the cure.

It has been a year since I signed my compact with God. He has kept His part of the compact and I shall keep mine. I have something better than thefts and an uplift list on my desk these days. It is a three years’ contract with Dr. Raines. But I wish I could forget for one day the shame that still burns in my heart. I have been a thief. It is a punishment worse than Hades.