cleaning...

i finally opened the box i didn't want to open- the one that houses my dairies. there's stuff in there dating back to when i was 14 years old, hopelessly romantic, and full of adolescent sorrow and anger.

i did the hard deed and threw the majority of them in the recycle bin. i didn't even ruffle through them the way i have in the past, looking for the little golden bits of writing that bounce out from the blue lines. i only checked the dates. i know what was going on in my life by just checking that and whether or not the "good" writing had started yet. i saved a stack of them and scrapped the rest. i don't need the document. i have the memory. and words follow a person around whether or not they are ever even read.

there are things, i suppose, we all hold on to, are afraid to let go of... or maybe just afraid to name the current situation: that person isn't me anymore. it feels horribly false to pretend otherwise. and in the spirit of clearing out relics from the past and making room for new memories and hopes and even hurts, the diaries had to go. that girl isn't here anymore. the hand writing looks the same but the words aren't. the dreams aren't. and i'm done with that old sorrow. some stuff is better off abandoned, forgotten, forgiven if possible.

all this sorting and weeding through has brought around uncomfortable and weird dreams. some of the dreams are memories. some are fears. precious few are welcome. when i'm done with this, they will go away and my normal good dreams will return. it is merely process. a 'working through' of long put off brain shit and heart shit. nevertheless, it is good work. it makes me good.