"Now I'm Trying To Get Back"

In middle school we had to read a book titled "The Giver". The giver was the keeper of memories of the past. The rest of society did not bother with these things. As a child I loved this book. Memories were a thing to be cherished.

Overall, I excessively reflect upon my life. What I mean is I carefully analyze how I've gotten to where I am, focus on predicting where I am going, and re-live parts of my past frequently. Sometimes memories haunt me, sometimes they are a warm comfort.

I have several bad memories which pang the deepest recesses of my heart. The most recent being the day my recent (like so over a year ago... *sigh* silly me) ex boyfriend decided that I wasn't good enough and the days, weeks, and months that followed. These are bad memories for the pain they caused for so long. Time heals though and it is nice to be able to put it nearly to rest. Others range from the loss of life-- not human but things I have seen die, often by my own hands. These memories remind me of the guilt of poor actions. An example of such was the time I brutally murdered a grasshopper with latex paint. I slowly watched such a fragile creature die because of my brief desires towards destroying. Other bad memories stem from my childhood and those are often best forgotten.

Good memories are a deep joy. These range to happy moments with boyfriends, to kick-ass times with my sister, to late nights with my brother and fun times with friends. These memories are fuel, the exception to the norm, my hopes.....

In all honesty without good memories I do not see the point of continuing on with life. If I cannot pick something from my past that enthralls me, that reminds me of how exhilarating living is, how joyous all the little relationships with people were and are and will be....then I cease to have hope.

God called me long ago, when I barely knew or comprehended the idea of a "god". I failed to attempt suicide when I was merely 10 years old because I was convinced that someone out there loved me...that their life would somehow be incomplete without me. I don't mean this in a sappy sense but in the way that "As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens another".

I suppose the "big idea" of this post is that memories are fundamental to the human experience. Though there are bad memories, these memories are apart of me, a driving force of change.

For now I can be thankful for where I am and from the long line of unfortunate events I have spawned from, and gratefully look towards the future with hope in unspoken promises.