The last few days I've
been trying to clean and organize. I've been trying to get rid of
some of the clutter in my apartment. I'm not a hoarder by any means
although some people might conclude that I'm a bit of a pack rat.
As I sort through boxes
and piles I sometimes dig up things that bring up old memories of
people and places perhaps better left forgotten.
In a bag I find two books
sent to me by a former girlfriend. I find a copy of The Five Love
Languages and some kind of handbook for husbands for building a
successful marriage. She wanted to marry me? What was she thinking?
In the same bag I find a notebook that contains
some diary entries. In one entry I mention that my girlfriend called
and told me about some cheap flights to Las Vegas. She said we could
fly to Vegas and be married by the next evening. I can't remember if
she was serious or not. If she was serious, did I screw up by not
taking her up on the offer?
In the same notebook, I
find poems that I wrote to her. These weren't just simple poems
either. I had written sonnets and ballads. I had really put in a
lot of time and thought and effort.
I put the relationship books in a bag
to donate. No one will love me again. I'll never be married. I don't need them. I throw the notebook in a trash bag. It was kind of
painful to look at the books and diary entries and poems. I guess I really blew it with her. I can't
imagine loving someone that much again. I think that part of me
died. Or, maybe it's just dormant. It seems to reaffirm that I
shouldn't get close to anyone. I'll get hurt or worse yet I'll hurt
someone.
In the same bag, I find a
mail order catalog from a company specializing in sterling silver
jewelry and a receipt for a ring I gave to my former love. I toss
them into the trash bag.
In a pile of papers on a
box I find a “wellness plan” of some sort.
My Name
Date of birth
Anorexia nervosa –
restricting type
Depression – NOS
Something about Cluster C
traits
Osteoporosis
This is followed by a list
of goals:
Tharin will …
Tharin will …
Tharin will …
I throw away the "wellness plan." Did it work? Am I well? Am I healthy?
I find more books. I save
the wrestling book by Mike Chapman. I put two books of essays in the
donation bag with the books from my ex-girlfriend. I also put two
Republican/Conservative/Right-Wing type of books in the donation bag
as well. They were good books but I
don't care much about politics anyway. No, they weren't written
by Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter if you're wondering.
I find a few muscle
magazines. Is that a funny juxtaposition? The anorexia diagnosis
side-by-side with bodybuilding magazines might seem odd. When I'm
not in a healthy state, I don't exactly look buff. But, I was
muscular at one time and I have the pictures to prove it. I don't
even look too bad in the mirror now relatively speaking. I've been
interested in bodybuilding since I was a kid so I still buy the
magazines occasionally.
I think about saving the
magazines but I'm tired of the clutter. So, I toss them into the
trash bag.
I find a some DVDs. It's
kind of sad that even DVDs seem primitive and obsolete now.
I find a copy of The Last
American Virgin. I remember ordering it because it was one of the
80s movies I'd never seen. But, the postal carrier put my package
into the wrong box the day it arrived. My female neighbor
accidentally opened my package. What did she think when she saw the
title of my DVD? Damn, that was embarrassing. At least it wasn't a
pornographic movie.
The notebook that I threw into the trash bag had some other diary entries. I read of my pain and distress those many years ago and sort of wish I hadn't found this old journal.
I find piles of notes I'd
written to myself and piles of notes I'd jotted down on a myriad of
subjects because I just have to write things down sometimes. I'm
interested in a lot of things and I like to think I'm writer as
well.
I find outlines of essays
and books I'd planned to write. I save some of these notes and some
I toss.
Did you ever hear of
Samuel Pepys, the famous diarist? The detailed private diary that
Pepys kept from 1660 until 1669 was first published in the 19th
century. If anyone ever finds any of my journals and other writings
after I'm gone I doubt they'll publish them for posterity.
Will anything I experience
or write down matter in the grand scheme of things?
I grab the books to donate and walk to the door to head to work. I
notice a string of pink plastic beads that have been hanging on the
doorknob of the closet nearest to my front door. A patient on the
psych unit was celebrating her birthday on the day I was admitted way back when.
So, she gave all of the eating disorder patients a string of beads including me.
That was several years ago. But, when I came home from the hospital
the last time I left it hanging there near my front door. I keep thinking of throwing them away but never have yet.
I'm kind of a downer, huh?
I've had enough of digging up old memories. I head to work. I'll let these old ghosts drift into the ether while I'm gone. I'll go to work and find kinship with my coworkers and pleasure in a job well done. I'll focus on today. I'll focus on the present.
Is it a talisman keeping
me from having to return to the hospital? No, it's just a string of
plastic beads. But, I haven't thrown them away. Some things I'm not
ready to dispose of yet.
