Memories

I think memory boxes should be illegal. At the very least, someone needs to do a public service announcement declaring the dangers of these inventions.

I found some of the strangest things...

• Numerous sappy love poems, written to my ex-fiance, and one to my first love. I edited the Collection of Bad Poetry blog from last month, to include these poems, as well. They were so bad, that they did not warrant their own blog posting. I will never write another love poem!
• Some of my strange old jewelry from high school. Evidently, I had the weirdest taste back then... Fimo clay must have been all the rage 12 years ago.
• A cassette tape making fun of me, and other people, made in 1998 by my high school rival. Ha! You know that I actually signed a petition to have his show put on the radio air waves in high school- I felt it was all in good sport. Those comments about my chin still haunt me to this day, every time I look in the mirror. Thank you for that.
• A Buddhist guided meditation CD and the accompanying pamphlet, that I got from an actual Buddhist Temple, which was located across from my apartment complex in Bensalem, Pennsylvania.
• My pager from 1999 and a complete list of pager codes and explanations, to boot!
• A little black felt journal, that describes every moment of the relationship with my first love. The tear stained pages are a reminder of how I take everything too seriously.
• A journal from 2004, which is nearly incoherent; more so than my blogs. I was even more of a shut-in, after I graduated college, and was having difficultly finding a job, I was smoking entirely too much marijuana those days, and I had agoraphobia. This journal reminds me of something the police would find in a paranoid schizophrenic's apartment, after an apparent murder-suicide.
• A little red yo-yo. I actually cannot recall the significance, with this object.
• The invitation and ticket to the Homecoming Dance of 1996, my first High School dance. Thank you to the wonderful teenage boy who danced with me all that night; he knows who he is.
• Hair. I found my own hair, still in a ponytail, after I cut it all off. I guess this would be good for Locks of Love.
• Key chains and lighters, a whole schlew of them.

• Some random temporary tattoos that my old employer got for me in The Netherlands.
• An honors medallion from my college graduation in 2004.
• About 25 love letters written to my child's father, that I kept because I knew that he would destroy them. I think it is my daughter's right to own these, after she is old enough to understand what it means to truly love someone.
• My lapel pin collection, a reminder that I am a professional, no matter how long it has been since I practiced social work.
• An antique Yogi Bear square sliding box puzzle
• My baby book, a reminder of how much I miss my dad. You will always be in my heart, Daddy!
• An Intramural Medal from Middle School. One of the only things I was ever good at in P.E. was Crab-Cage ball. How random is that?

So, I am sitting here, contemplating who would put so many random objects in the same box. Oh, that's right- it was me! This box was a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode, if it was not given the attention that it felt that it deserved. Yes, I just gave an inanimate object human characteristics, just call me anthropomorphic and be done with it!

These boxes are both good and bad things. I would definitely not recommend, those who are mentally and emotionally unstable, opening a can of worms, such as a memory box. This box was needed though, as I have been avoidant in my personal affairs and feelings. It is like exposure therapy. There really is no way for me to hide from emotions from the past, if I hold the objects from the past in my hands.

There is a lot to be said about confronting your demons, so that they cannot hurt you anymore. There are certain instances in my life that were so painful, that I stuffed the emotions in a box and hid them away for years. I think this is why I was a heavy drinker and marijuana user. I used these substances to self-medicate my pain, sadness, and confusion. I really thought that I could drink or smoke my problems away. I am much more realistic these days. I know there is so much work to be done in my life and that this is the fresh start that I needed. However, it troubles me that I am troubled. I feel like I should be this super-hero femme fatal, who takes no prisoners, does what she wants, and regrets nothing. I get angry with myself when I recognize my humanity- that I am a person with flaws, just like everyone else. I want to be the Ubermensch, or super-[wo]man. I want to be the person everyone counts on, to always be there to catch them when they fall.

But, I must recognize the truth- sometimes I have to pick myself up when I fall down. The super-hero must do the same, in nearly every tale. It is the struggle that I wrestle with; I want to be perfect and am frustrated that I will never be anything close.


Listening to: the sound of crickets and frogs outside my window, the fizzing of my soda on the nightstand, the sound of the ceiling fan, and the tapping of the keyboard of my laptop. Sorry guys, no music tonight.




Links:
Definition of Ubermensch
Superhero, a list of traits and more information
Marvel, The Official Website
Superhero Database
DC Comics