I was at my grand-mother’s place at the weekend and I went through old writing, words she kept like a treasure! Old love, loss stories and blog posts.
I looked at words, thinking “God, you had it all wrong!” I think I wrote a different story than the one I was living, just so I could survive it. It’s crazy but it helped.
I nearly couldn’t believe what I was reading, like it came from another life, a place I visited in dreams. Like it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t me, the “today” me. It was just an old version, somebody I used to be, somebody trying to fit in a life that wasn’t right for her.
I hated people for this, for not understanding I wanted to be somebody, even if it came with harm and sadness. And it did came with all of this, tears and hopelessness, violence and pain. At least, through hell, I was made of something.
How did I knew it? I was breakable. Like made of porcelain.
Old life. I took everything to the paper bin. Relief. I don’t need this. I don’t need to remember, it’s there anyway. And I am fine with it, fine with who I was, what I trade for peace or whatever I was looking for. It’s a big chapter and yet it’s nothing more than that.
I had my chance and I took it, despite the mess and the chaos. Maybe if there’s one thing to keep of these years, it’s this!
And you, what do you choose to keep? Which of your memories make a difference in your life today?