Will the Past Ever Die?

Another day, another life, another reboot. Another do-over…

Why after only 15 days does it resemble every other failure?

I believe it is the past. The one I fold up tightly and stow away like carry on baggage in my heart. Not my entire past of course. Silly, that would require its’ own friggin’ train. Just the tiny shards of caustic material, the kind that burn deep, kind of akin to a bullet lodged near the spine that can’t be removed. Why do I carry such damaging material on my person, a normal human might ask… I think it is part of my protection, my walls if you will. How do I use these horrific memories? I save them up and use them to run. Fast and far.

What kinds of things are in my arsenal? Every break-up moment, every negative statement involved, every lie, every sad truth. Especially the recurring ones. The ones that cut the deepest. Somehow it was never the first cut that did the most damage.

Dare I share? One of my male friend worries that I put myself out there too much. I worry I don’t put myself out there ENOUGH. If I am to find real love, I gotta kiss a lot of frogs. (although, sometimes I wonder…)

Ah, what the hell, right? The hits run like this… “ I don’t take care of myself.” “You have let yourself go.” “I can’t take care of you.” “I liked you better thinner.” “Too emotional.” “ You can’t manage your money.“ You’re not the type I usually go for.” “These shorts I wore when I was fat, but you can have them.” “Not my problem.” And so on.

So, how it works is all about the key words, the inflection, the deeper meaning, it doesn’t matter how much make-up sex happens, or how many tearful apologies ensue. It is the beginning of the end.

People who don’t really know me or my journey can easily say, “get over it,” or “just love yourself” even “quit whining.” To those peeps I say “whatever.”

Will the past ever die, really pass away to the nether world and be released from my baggage? I have no idea. The only way I see it ever disappearing would not be from anyone else alone, but from someone who loved me (all of me) enough to help me unpack and burn those memories, one by one. I remember when I first escaped the evil one, my family built a bonfire and helped me burn everything he ever gave me. Which was helpful in some ways, but the words are still there, packed away with the other past disappointments and pains, folded up in my tiny carry on bag, located in my heart…

Whatever… move on?