I can't even find the corners of my mind.
I wonder why there are some things I just cannot let go.
Some people will say things like “like let it out and let it go”, the theory being, I think, that once it’s out there, where ever there is, you can, and should, just leave it there. Once that is done you can move on and everything is better. The sun shines brighter and you your step takes on a jaunty step. It makes sense to me on an intellectual level, of course. The less of a load you carry the lighter your soul becomes. There are people who do seem to be able to do this, who live in the now, unburdened by the past, and from what I’ve seen, these people do seem happier.
I am not one of those people.
I admit it. I’m a hoarder of “things”. I’ve kept each and every thing that has happened to me ever. I won’t go into specifics. No one needs to see the things I hide away deep in my psyche. Most of them are so old and moldy by now that they are recognizable only to me. Others things have disputed ownership and I really don’t want anyone to see them and then claim even partial custody. Some of just ugly, and should never be exposed to the light of day. I will say some of the things are big; really big. These I keep hidden in a closet at the back of my mind. That closet is locked and barricaded and has a wall of bricks in front of it. I go to great lengths to avoid even seeing the closet. These things have a life of their own and are mean. They fight like hell to come out and take revenge for their imprisonment. Now and again one will break through and wound me. Some times in my pain I wound someone else in return. I can’t believe that anyone would benefit from letting these things out, and I doubt that if I did they would agree to be “just let go”.
The things I wonder about, though, are the little things. I keep these things in little boxes that are scattered all over my overloaded psyche. I’ve an elaborate system of filing away that includes duplicates and cross-referencing. I can take out the appropriate box, say the one that’s marked “Things My Mother Said”, and brood over the contents any time I want. I have boxes that contain items that are almost as old as I am and I have other boxes that are brand new and just waiting to be filled. Of course with so many boxes packed in to such a small area, I admit they sometimes get in the way. I may, for example, be looking for the box marked “Reasons to Feel Good About Myself” and instead bump into the box that’s full of friends that abandoned me for reasons I’ve never understood. That’s the kind of mix up that can really mess up your entire day.
I know I should throw some of these boxes away, but I just don’t know how. As a result, I tip toe among towers of memories pack in so tightly that if I bump into the wrong one it the whole infrastructure will come crashing down, burying me so deeply in a pile of stuff I should have let go that I’ll never find my way out. I probably shouldn’t worry about this. I probably should let it go. I won’t though. I have just the perfect box for it.
Some people will say things like “like let it out and let it go”, the theory being, I think, that once it’s out there, where ever there is, you can, and should, just leave it there. Once that is done you can move on and everything is better. The sun shines brighter and you your step takes on a jaunty step. It makes sense to me on an intellectual level, of course. The less of a load you carry the lighter your soul becomes. There are people who do seem to be able to do this, who live in the now, unburdened by the past, and from what I’ve seen, these people do seem happier.
I am not one of those people.
I admit it. I’m a hoarder of “things”. I’ve kept each and every thing that has happened to me ever. I won’t go into specifics. No one needs to see the things I hide away deep in my psyche. Most of them are so old and moldy by now that they are recognizable only to me. Others things have disputed ownership and I really don’t want anyone to see them and then claim even partial custody. Some of just ugly, and should never be exposed to the light of day. I will say some of the things are big; really big. These I keep hidden in a closet at the back of my mind. That closet is locked and barricaded and has a wall of bricks in front of it. I go to great lengths to avoid even seeing the closet. These things have a life of their own and are mean. They fight like hell to come out and take revenge for their imprisonment. Now and again one will break through and wound me. Some times in my pain I wound someone else in return. I can’t believe that anyone would benefit from letting these things out, and I doubt that if I did they would agree to be “just let go”.
The things I wonder about, though, are the little things. I keep these things in little boxes that are scattered all over my overloaded psyche. I’ve an elaborate system of filing away that includes duplicates and cross-referencing. I can take out the appropriate box, say the one that’s marked “Things My Mother Said”, and brood over the contents any time I want. I have boxes that contain items that are almost as old as I am and I have other boxes that are brand new and just waiting to be filled. Of course with so many boxes packed in to such a small area, I admit they sometimes get in the way. I may, for example, be looking for the box marked “Reasons to Feel Good About Myself” and instead bump into the box that’s full of friends that abandoned me for reasons I’ve never understood. That’s the kind of mix up that can really mess up your entire day.
I know I should throw some of these boxes away, but I just don’t know how. As a result, I tip toe among towers of memories pack in so tightly that if I bump into the wrong one it the whole infrastructure will come crashing down, burying me so deeply in a pile of stuff I should have let go that I’ll never find my way out. I probably shouldn’t worry about this. I probably should let it go. I won’t though. I have just the perfect box for it.