Skeletons In My Closet

So, as u know the 'rents are getting divorced & moving out of the homestead. It's a big event. Hard to believe I may never be back in that house again. Never again see the bedroom I spent so many nights in. I wish I had time to venture up north for one last goodbye, ya know?

Anyway, my mom has been packing up my things and sent me a box of stuff that she thought I might want with me. Everything else is in my grandparents' attic until I rescue it (can anybody say "Road Trip!"??) So, this box was full of treasures. Mostly poems & stories that I had written. I used to keep a composition book with me at all times. I wrote so much it was like a disease. Reading that all again has been an amazing experience.

I think the most amazing thing is when I find something that I don't remember writing back then, but that still totally represents how I feel today. Like, I found quite a few things about how much I hate my father - I could've written those like yesterday! Then there are things that I completely do not remember writing, but that are still beautiful to me. Maybe I'm not the best judge of good writing, but I think some of the stuff is actually really good. Don't fret, I'm sure I'll be posting some of it, so you all can tell me what YOU think!!!

Of course, it's not all good. Some stuff is just terrible. And some is so sad. So much is about ex-boyfriends of course. And, for the most part, I remember those feelings. I remember the sadness and anger and love, but I don't remember the desperation. Perhaps because I never saw it as desperation then. So many times I wrote that I was nothing without "him" - whoever the "him" happened to be at the time. I wrote about times when they cheated on me, or lied to me, or deserted me, or hit me, or even just made me feel rotten. But I never wrote that I would be better off without them. In fact, there are plenty of times when I turned the blame around on myself - essentially saying that I deserved what I got. That I must have hurt them or not been good enough for them and this was my punishment, and that I was sorry.

The whole experience has been so...forensic! Like conducting an autopsy of my own mental illness. I can remember the experiences and see them from an objective standpoint and then I hear my words from the past, so trapped in those delusions. It's just unbelievable to me. And the worst part is that, at the time, I didn't even know anything was wrong. I didn't think, even for a second, that there was anything even unusual about how I felt. I thought I was completely rational. That is scary. Not only retrospectively, but in the now. Would I know now if I was losing it again? Will I know in the future? Will I listen if someone tells me? I didn't listen then.

I guess all I can do is hope that I really am better now. Hope that my brain is better and that I have learned from my experiences. And keep writing things down, so that the investigation is ongoing and none of the clues will be overlooked. When the enemy lives inside you, you can't ever let your guard down.