People Hold Memories Too

I hate cleaning my room. It takes a lot of time and motivation that I simply don't have. You have to go through all of the junk that's been piling up on the floor, in the closet, under the bed, on the dresser. I always end up finding objects that I never have a clue what to do with, which just results in more piles scattered in my room. But then you stumble on something that you remember, and you remember it pretty well.

You have mixed feelings about this object, because it brought you so much happiness. But maybe for every minute of happiness, there was an hour of heartbreak, betrayal, hurt, lonliness. So when you finally, after years, lay your hands on this object you immediately think of all the good times. That's what people are supposed to do, right? Remember the good times and forget the bad? But we always end up remembering the bad times as well. So you pick up this object, and a sense of overwhelming happiness floods your heart, and you smile, maybe even laugh a little to yourself. But after a moment your smile fades.

Your heart drains of the happiness which once filled it just a second ago. The bad times come rolling into your mind, they always do. And all of a sudden this object which was so meaningful to you turns into a weapon against your happiness. You want to throw it across the room, it caused you so much harm and feelings of neglect, but you can't. The fingers on your shaking hands wrap tighter around the object. It's causing you so much pain, even to this day, even after all the people told you to just let it go. What if that object was a note, a gift, a picture even?

I feel a little funny writing this, but people are like objects, no matter what anyone says. They can be hidden for years at a time, but when they resurface a million different emotions also emerge. Happiness, sadness, fear, neglect, heartbreak, betrayal, lonliness, hurt. But sometimes, the things we hold onto the most, end up being the things that hurt us the most.

For me, that object came in the form of writing which I stumbled upon just a few short minutes before I sat down to write this. This writing is my attempt to let go. I know it won't work, I know I will fail like the thousands of other times I've tried. But if I don't at least try to free myself, then I will be pulled into the object's orbit; a never ending dark and cold space, where even the brightest of stars can't shine.