Bad blogger! I have been so busy this week that - while I didn't forget about this place - I sure haven't taken any time to write. So...here I am. It's Friday, which means Steinvic will be here this evening. (YES!) It's payday. The sun is trying to come out. Does it get any better than this?
Well, yeah. Because Steinvic has found a nasty cold - probably from the plane ride home last Saturday - so we might be doing more relaxing than anything this weekend, but that is fine with me. Because really, every spare minute of my life the last two weeks has been dedicated to throwing more crap away. And I am worn out!
This is embarrassing, but I found one box that actually had an envelope of cancelled checks in it from 1995. What did I save that for? I imagine that the envelope somehow made it into a box the last what...four moves? Maybe I knew it was there and I simply didn't have time to shred. But still!
I also apparently had money at one point in my life, because I have uncovered some pricey goodies that I sure couldn't afford now! Like a giant bottle of BLV. And a palette of Chanel tubes of color to mix to customize special shades. My sister used to give me Sephora gift certificates, and maybe that explains these items, because no matter what, I KNOW that I would have never spent actual money on myself for these things. But wow! While the fragrance is still fine, I'm a little afraid to use products when I have no idea how old they are. At least the old MAC stuff translates into free lipstick (the MAC recycling program is 1 free lipstick per 6 empty containers...deal!)
The odd part is what I don't remember. I'm not freaking out about it, though. I know how the brain works. I know that I was pretty much pushed to the max, in full survivor mode, and that my brain knew (and knows) what I can and can't handle. So, some of these things...these belongings that I feel I'm seeing for the first time...those memories just happened to slip down the rabbit hole, as they were tethered to some especially troublesome stuff.
When I see these belongings...they look like things I'd enjoy or things that people who knew me would give me. And at one time, I cared enough about those items to pack them up and bring them along. But now? Aside from the things that seem really special (Hello? Who can easily toss Chanel?!) it's pretty easy to throw these items away.
Because they're not really mine.
I don't mean that I've turned Sybil on you or anything. I'm just saying, the person they belonged to, she's kind of...gone. I'm sure all of this makes me sound like a loon. In fact, I just may be a loon. But you know, I haven't ever felt as sound as I do right now, in this minute.
For the longest time, I've been bothered by a fear that I'm not normal. That because of my life and the experiences thrust upon me, I'm defective or flawed. I've even felt at times that I'm not worthy of the good in my present life. (And yeah, I've talked to someone about that. To be honest, the talking was cathartic and helpful, but didn't allow me shake that feeling.)
But seeing all these things the last few weeks, even the belongings I don't remember, somehow serves as evidence. Proof of my life. Happy, horrifying, remembered, forgotten...now it feels like facts. Not devastating, just the truth.
Even though my former self is unfamiliar, from old paystubs, I see that no matter how tough things got, I've always worked. I'm a hard worker. From the sketchbooks, I can see that I've always been creative and made my own outlets. I'm an artist. From the letters I wrote to people (even if I never sent them) and letters I wrote to myself as a sanity check, I can see that I've always been articulate and expressive. I can write.
I've been stupid, brilliant, impulsive, hesitant, ashamed, brave and at times insane, and it's all good because it's all me.
I've spent a lot of years either going with being a total mess or trying desperately to appear perfect. That struggle has been exhausting and, at times, depressing. After two weeks of dipping into the essence of me, and literally destroying the parts I no longer need, I'm finally ready to stop trying to be anything.
Who needed therapy? I just needed to throw this stuff away.
Finally, I can breathe.