Lately I've been handling my anger really well. When I hear something that used to make me explode, it still affects me but I am able to brush off the anger in a few minutes as long as I keep my mouth shut.
But I noticed something about this method. It's as if every thing I hear that makes me angry, instead of dismissing it, I take it and stack it neatly on a shelf in the back of my mind. And as long as the shelf stays relatively empty, I can manage it. But what if that shelf starts to fill up and overflow?
I’m struggling to let go. Of the words, actions, inaction, silence — whatever. Whatever I’m stacking on that shelf, I have to stop. I have to let it go and toss them out. What’s the point in keeping them, anyway?
Here's my problem: I have a very good memory. That's great, people say. They're impressed by the fact I can remember names and addresses of people I haven't associated with for years. They're happy when I always remember important dates or anniversaries. They love that I can remember their name after only have met them once. Yeah, it can be great.
But it can be terrible too.
Remember that time you shoved me out of my computer chair because I got you killed in that MMO?
Remember that time you punched me in the face when all I was trying to do was keep you from driving drunk?
Remember that expression you made when I was crying on the floor in the closet, feeling more alone than I ever had?
I do. I remember. Everything.
The negative tendrils of these memories have wrapped themselves around my brain. That shelf is stuffed with needless memories that only exist to harm me.
So how do I let them go?
My whole life I've done this. Stack up the negative memories and lock them tightly away. But I get weak, in my dark times, in my depression, in my anger. And those memories start to creep up, eating at my sanity little by little until I can no longer contain them anymore.
I'll erupt like the Yellowstone super volcano and at this point, there's nothing you can do.
That's where my problem lies. In those hidden evil parts of my life that only get more negativity attached to it each time the memory is recovered. Each time I slip up and remember.
The rational part of me screams at me, pleading, please don’t do this again. What’s the point of remembering when you told me, with a flare of hatred in your eyes, that you hated everything about me, that I was nothing and no one? What’s the point of remembering sitting on my front porch crying my eyes out because you promised to be there, and you never showed?
I know I have a lot I need to let go of. I just don't know how. But now that I have discovered this problem, I can finally seek to address it. I am now aware my shelf is full.
Time to clean it out.
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