What I Choose To Remember


Recently, a fellow blogger requested access to my previous blog.  Of course, I had no qualms about allowing this person to continue to read my story.  We have walked this same path together, and she has become someone special to me.  I love and admire her strength, a strength I have often drawn on as an example for myself.  Today I finally got around to logging into the old blog.  I hadn’t read a word of that blog since May.  Many, many times, I have considered logging in and writing.  The story in that blog was a major part of my life.  It is a story without a satisfactory ending and a story with thousands of unanswered questions.  Many stones have been left unturned, many angles are left to explore.  Flipping those stones, searching for the answers, and exploring those angles could easily become an obsession.  I know that all too well.  I could spend the rest of my life seeking answers to WHY?  HOW?  WHAT HAPPENED?  I know now that I will never, ever find those answers.  Some things are inexplicable.  There are no answers to some questions.  Sometimes certain situations simply defy all logic.

The other blog was not the first.  The first blog is gone.  I deleted it, and to this day I regret that decision.  I deleted it out of pain and out of fear.  I think back on the words I wrote during the year of the first blog.  While I certainly can’t remember the exact words I wrote, I have strong memories of certain blog entries.  I was tangled and crushed in a web of pain.  It was  unbelievably cruel and searing pain.  It was fresh and raw.  Imagine one of your appendages being caught in a large machine, your leg for example.  If your leg was twisted and mangled beyond recognition until it finally gave way and was ripped from your body.  Then, each day the moment your eyes opened, the crusty bandages were ripped off the wound to expose the raw, damaged skin beneath.  It was that kind of pain.  And today, I remembered it all again.

As I skimmed through the previous blog today, all I could say was “Wow.”  I had forgotten so much.  Oh, I knew it had been bad, but I forgotten so many details, horrifyingly, cruel details.  Memory is an interesting, protective thing.  I read on and on, and I began to remember.  I’m still not sure how it made me feel.  I felt odd and uneasy.  I felt ashamed of myself for forgetting some of the very worst things.  My therapist once told me that I have a problem letting go of anger too easily.  Sure, I get angry, but I forgive major grievances so easily that I don’t learn anything from the experience.  I let the anger go…right along with the lesson.  I thank my fellow blogger for unknowingly directing me back to the blog for a refresher course.

My visit with the previous blog left me feeling a bit introspective today.  I felt sad, yet on the other hand, I felt proud to see progress, real progress in my life.  I spent my day with renewed purpose.  I have begun to figure out a new direction, new goals, and new plans.  I have slowly, but surely begun to extricate myself from the painful past.  Without a doubt, I have moments, even days at a time, that plunge me back into the painful past.  I am not proud of that, but I have learned to wait out those bad times and keep pushing myself through to the other side where the sun will shine once again.

2 thoughts on “What I Choose To Remember

  1. It’s almost stalkerish, to watch someone else grow and become aware. It’s even better to see yourself grow and hopefully mature.
    I’ve enjoyed the ride, even though I didn’t like the story.

    • RBM….you’re funny. You’re certainly not someone I would EVER call stalkerish! 🙂 We shared the same crappy path, and your insight has been inspirational to me. You’ve held my hand during some very dark times in my life, and that makes you someone very special to me indeed!

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