I thought the title of my blog would be a great place to start for my post today. Obviously these words mean everything to me. They ARE me.
My life seems to snake its way through the world without necessarily moving forward. Fortunately, I believe that the people in my family were somehow born with the ability to acclimate quickly to any given situation. It has been both an advantage and a disadvantage at times. For instance, this "ability" has helped me to remain calm in some of my most traumatizing moments.
However, my mind has a trick up its sleeve. As with everything, there has to be a balance. Every advantage has a disadvantage and every evil has a saving grace.
The reason I believe I am able to adjust so easily is because I have no memories to hold me back. My mind steals my memories and puts them into a locked box somewhere else in my head that I cannot access.
It has helped me in so many ways by giving me the courage to move forward with some of life's scariest situations. Mostly, though, it steals so much of ME that I don't really know who ME is anymore. Not that I ever did, I don't remember. I thought I was pretty certain I knew exactly what I believed in when I was younger, but who knows where or when that ended. I couldn't tell you how I got here, and I probably won't remember "here" in three months.
It's a running joke between my husband and I and thankfully hasn't in any way hurt my relationship with him or my daughter. I don't know how long I can keep that up, though. Will there be a day that I don't remember my first date with him? Or the day I brought my daughter home from the hospital. Actually, I don't remember that day, only the day she was born. See, I'm already losing her.
Occasionally I'll fight against it by writing my most precious memories down into a journal, but I am not nearly as good at remembering to do it as I should be. Also, then, its only a journal entry, not a memory. When I go back to reread my journals, they don't spark a memory, just an interesting read. Instead, I hoard; it's my only weapon against the memory thief. I'm afraid I'll be one of those hoarders you see on television with a house full of randomness to fight against losing a memory. Hopefully the husband won't let that happen.
So that's it. That's what I wanted to say. I'm writing this blog, and posting pictures to remember ME. Hopefully my writing resonates with someone else and I won't just be writing this for me, but if not, me is good enough.
My life seems to snake its way through the world without necessarily moving forward. Fortunately, I believe that the people in my family were somehow born with the ability to acclimate quickly to any given situation. It has been both an advantage and a disadvantage at times. For instance, this "ability" has helped me to remain calm in some of my most traumatizing moments.
However, my mind has a trick up its sleeve. As with everything, there has to be a balance. Every advantage has a disadvantage and every evil has a saving grace.
The reason I believe I am able to adjust so easily is because I have no memories to hold me back. My mind steals my memories and puts them into a locked box somewhere else in my head that I cannot access.
It has helped me in so many ways by giving me the courage to move forward with some of life's scariest situations. Mostly, though, it steals so much of ME that I don't really know who ME is anymore. Not that I ever did, I don't remember. I thought I was pretty certain I knew exactly what I believed in when I was younger, but who knows where or when that ended. I couldn't tell you how I got here, and I probably won't remember "here" in three months.
It's a running joke between my husband and I and thankfully hasn't in any way hurt my relationship with him or my daughter. I don't know how long I can keep that up, though. Will there be a day that I don't remember my first date with him? Or the day I brought my daughter home from the hospital. Actually, I don't remember that day, only the day she was born. See, I'm already losing her.
Occasionally I'll fight against it by writing my most precious memories down into a journal, but I am not nearly as good at remembering to do it as I should be. Also, then, its only a journal entry, not a memory. When I go back to reread my journals, they don't spark a memory, just an interesting read. Instead, I hoard; it's my only weapon against the memory thief. I'm afraid I'll be one of those hoarders you see on television with a house full of randomness to fight against losing a memory. Hopefully the husband won't let that happen.
So that's it. That's what I wanted to say. I'm writing this blog, and posting pictures to remember ME. Hopefully my writing resonates with someone else and I won't just be writing this for me, but if not, me is good enough.
