i’m sure i’ve said it before, but one of my ongoing dreads is the idea that i’ll be forgotten. maybe even by myself. i’m going to move in a couple of months, and as i look around at all the stuff i’ve accumulated, i’m just begging myself to get rid of it. but a lot of times, as i go through stuff, i realize that i save a good amount of it because i need it to remember things by. letters friends have written me and cards people have sent. pictures that were taken and doodles written on a piece of paper in another lifetime.
i need these things to remind me that things were different once, that i had relationships that weren’t all bad and that there were times that were good in my history. that things were simpler and sweeter sometimes. that i had a past where people didn’t put me in a closet hung up with labels: sober, manic-depressive, ex-_____, what once was, what has been.
i need those things to reassure me that some of the things i have floating around in my head aren’t foolish ideas; that they were in fact real. that i’m not making them up — that other people willingly participated and had a good time, too. that they were the ones who went out of their way to tell me good things or to reach out to me in friendship or dare i say, in romance.
i rarely look at any of that stuff. it’s not like i spend hours a day reminiscing over the ‘good old times.’ shit, i spend too many hours floundering around on the internet wasting time keeping myself occupied and away from any feeling to do that. so, before anyone thinks i’m spending *too* much time in grey gardens, don’t get too worried. but when i go to throw it all away and i decide to sort through it, that’s when i get caught up. that’s when i just can’t make myself destroy the physical manifestation of memory i have. because, often, that’s all i have left.
honestly, i’m left to wonder sometimes what lens other people see things through. and even though i just said that ‘what other people think of me is none of my business,’ i have to say that it whirs around in my head a little bit. that nagging fear that everyone has gone on with their lives and the part i played or the space i took up now means nothing to them. i think it’s just because i’ve always been filled with such a huge sense of nostalgia. even things that didn’t go on to turn out very well at all — well, i’ve always had a sense of longing for resolution and for well-wishes. i never forget certain things even as my memory continues to whitewash so much of the rest of my past, leaving me desperately wondering for details.
i know. things change, people change. part of it is that i run into people and i wonder if they remember the same things i do. if the same things are important to them. if they miss anything like i do. i know i’ve been feeling sorry for myself lately, but i’ve been looking around and just getting the sinking feeling that i’m set out on a solitary course headed for the middle of nowhere. this isn’t where i was supposed to be. but i also know that i’ve been the one steering the ship, so who do i have to blame? no one.
i feel foolish. i’ve made a lot of poor choices. so lamenting them here really isn’t super useful. it’s the near 4 am sorrow that strikes, i’m sure. so i suppose i’ll leave off and hope things look a little better in the morning. i can hope. it generally turns out that way. monday will mark 6 years i’ve been at this. can you believe that? i can’t. seems sort of ridiculous, really. but that’s what i know today. come here, blog now and then, and see what happens. and so it goes. and maybe this way, i keep remembering not to forget.