Maybe This Time (New Beginnings)

There are many parts of me that came from him. Or were, at least, planted there by him - by things he did and things he said (some even from what was left unsaid). It breaks me to know that not everything I took with me when he left was good. There were habits developed as an involuntary response to his actions, his ideals - but mostly to his absence -, that frightens me; that’s not who I am.

I spent years trying so hard to form and cement a connection... Only to find myself, now, cleaning the mess that remains of what once was; trying even harder to sever all ties built. In the middle of all that, I failed to see how I was losing myself in a vain attempt to fit a mold I wasn’t made to fit. But back then that didn't matter much because his arms were my safe heaven...until they stopped being that and became a trap he couldn't wait to see me out of fast enough.

I wandered in my unconsciousness for so long. Lost, looking for an answer, any kind of answer. But there isn't really one... There is no cure for my almost chameleonic ability that keeps making me try to blend into my surroundings; even if it means leaving parts of me behind.

But even after all that failed, there is still hope – a new light at the end of yet another tunnel. And here I am, at the start of a new journey (or perhaps a new road), hoping this time it leads home.

Andie

What We Remember...

Memory is a funny process... We spend half of our lives trying to make the best memories we possibly can while wishing, hoping, the memories worth keeping outnumber the ones we make a desperate effort to forget. 

Then we spend the other half holding on to those memories, fearing we might forget them if we happen to look away for just a second. 

Nevertheless, the amusing part isn't in any of those facts. No, there is nothing remotely humorous regarding our almost desperate effort to fabricate "good" memories, nor in the temporary false sense of security obtained from said memories. 

The hilariousness is in the fact that, in the end, no matter how tight you hold on, you can't control what or even how your brain remembers it. How often have you reminisced on some of your fondest childhood memories, just to discover the majority of them didn't happen in the way you seem to remember them...?

Take as an example one of my last "good" memories about my uncles on my father's side. In my memory, they had a huge shiny black grand piano in their basement; and in my childlike mind, it was a magical place where anything was possible. However, afterwards I was told there had never been a grand piano, just a small, timeworn, ivory coloured vertical one. Also the reason behind that piano location (do I get bonus points for at least remembering that right?) stood as anything, but magical. 

The brain has a tendency to misattribute an imagined event as reality, the source and even the context of memories... 

So, in the end, how can we truly be sure what's real and what's fiction?

how do i let go...

| also on my Instagram |

Andie

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Not sure if I'm 100% happy with this, I might come back later for a touch up or two...

Also, there is a small chance Lilly might come back to the blog, I've re-added her to the authors section but I guess only time will tell how that goes. Yeah, pretty positive it won't happen.