Sometimes I look at pictures of myself from the past, and I begin to wish for those times. I was so young, innocent, and unbroken, unaware of what was to come. My first instinct is to try to protect that little girl, but then I realize that she’s gone. She ceases to exist. In a way, though, she does live. Her pain is my pain, her struggles mine. In a way. Am I making sense? Probably not.
I want to talk about the hurty (yes, I made up another word) experiences I’ve had, because it’s actually relieving to get them off my chest (though most people really don’t want to hear about things that happened three or more years ago). Often I find that when I’m talking about one experience, I remember another one, and another, and another. It’s like an Easter egg hunt, but not as fun, obviously.
I’m not quite sure why these things still hurt me. Why should it matter what a bunch of fifth graders said to me? Why should the opinion of a twelve-year-old kid cause me such pain? I know that the things they said were lies, but I can’t seem to just shake it all off. Should I be expected to, though? Should one expect me to find and crush all the Easter eggs at once?
I find an Easter egg, try to pull it up, but it’s chained to the ground. How uncool is that? Even when I find and recognize a painful memory, I can’t just decide to make it stop hurting. Seriously, I’ve tried all sorts of approaches, but they turn to ash and nothingness when I attempt them. I’m running out of ideas. And, if you know me, that doesn’t happen very often.
I’ve conquered so much in my life, but my own past seems like a mountain that cannot be scaled. “Well, walk around the mountain!” they say. “Leave the past behind you! Forget it!” But should I have to live like this? Should I have to feel such continued anguish like this for the rest of my life, and just shove away the feelings every time they arise? I wish just telling bad memories to go away could work.
Oh well. Maybe if I just ignore it long enough, it’ll go away.
Kidding. I’ve already tried that.