… could fill a warehouse if a warehouse could house self respect. The idea being that I defined everything I was by the sum of my possessions, never giving myself a worth beyond materialism. When it was all taken, all stolen, I had to come to terms with the need to move on. I tried to go back to that warehouse of self-worth. When I arrived I discovered every square inch bare, every window boarded up, every light on which would shine something I could appreciate about myself was turned off. The warehouse was vacant, and empty dark place in which I would sit and cry so I could paint the walls with my tears.