week 13: worn

these are things that are in my thoughts more often than not. a preoccupation, i am surrounded by ghosts.

i see them in every inch of these places that i've lived, everything feels used.

i know that i have talked about these things before, but there have been... changes in my thought processes, nothing really significant as of yet but over the last year, it's shifted a degree or two, enough to shake up all the dust that had settled over the years.

it feels like tearing down a dilapidated house or maybe just dusting, suddenly theres all this crap in the air, gettinging into your eyes and lungs and it's messy, very messy.

i've had to take some very uncomfortable looks at my life. i am slowly figuring out how to cope with what was done, and accepting now what is.

i am not very good at this.

i described the situation to a therapist once, that at thirteen i had faced and weathered some of the worst things that can think of, and at that age i was done, i had survived but i was done, and i had done this as a teenager and not as an adult.

i was told i suffer from ptss. i laughed a little at the time, but now i wonder if there wasn't something to what he said.

i have never been good with change. if anything, this project through the years should illustrate that fact, i hold on to the past, i mourn loss, and... and.


there is a her, or was i guess, as in was a her. not that she died or anything like that but she did leave, and i know deep down inside that whoever it was that i had those memories of is gone, ten years, a decade... lol another decade, well it's a long time to not know someone if that makes any sense, i guess what i'm trying to say is that she's not the woman that i remember, she almost certainly has changed, grown, moved on.

i hold so tightly to those wonderful moments, from back then. i take them to bed and sleep next to them, sometimes i breathed for them, i know people who have lost their loved ones, hell i've had people i love die. but this is different in so weird way, those people didn't want to leave, want to die. when she did what she did, and then left it wasn't because there wasn't any choice in the matter, she left because she wanted to be with someone else and that fucking hurts.

there are two things that happened earlier this week. the first was when i was talking with someone about the past and the future and said: "our lives are like trails made of paper that burns behind us as we move forward." i don't know where that came from but it has caused me to pause and think about what i had said.

these are used memories, tired, worn. like what happens when you photocopy and photocopy, eventually they fade.

i also once said: ït is the fear and uncertainty of the future that makes us cling so tightly to the past."

i think mike meyers put it another way, "live in the now, man." thats great advice but it's like when someone doesn't want to hear about it they "just get over it." really? oh, why did i never think to do that...

the thing though that really brought all of this, what you have just read, crashing down around my head, neck, chest and heart is that i found a picture of her.

this was the girl who hated pictures, who refused to let them be taken. i don't remember when she gave it to me and to be honest i could have sworn that i had burned it with the rest, but there it was, in a book i hadn't read in years, torn around the edges, faded, folded and worn.

and there it is. these funny little coincidences that keep popping up now that i'm learning how to see them, and not just pass them off as some random event but as maybe something that i should be working on.

if that's the case, it sure the hell isn't being subtle.

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