Bits and Pieces

Have you ever felt that along your journey to the place you are now that you’ve lost bits and pieces of yourself?  Bits that went unnoticed for a long time; pieces that really didn’t have much use all by themselves.  Then one day or maybe several days you began to realize that something was different; you were different.  You seemed the same on the outside and for the most part, you were.  Days and months stumbled by and you didn’t really miss the bits or the pieces you seemingly dropped along the way.  Then comes the moment you never expected; the moment you needed something you didn’t have but knew you used to have only it was whole back then.  You reach for it, you search inside for it, you long to hold it in the palm of your hand like a sword you can use to fight off the enemy – but it isn’t there or maybe part of it is there but the gears are rusty and the motor is frozen.  As the realization comes over you, the enemy has now become your own self. 

I used to have tools for this; for climbing out of the sadness.  I had a shovel in case it got too deep and a prayer in my pocket in case the climb was too much to do alone.  Somehow I’ve lost my tools.  Digging my hands into my pockets I turn them inside out only to find they are empty.  I hang on the words of those that have gone before me; the other ones that lost something so great its importance cannot be measured.  For brief moments my chest seems less heavy but then I remember.  My mind spins and races around the dangerous curves of my memories secretly wishing that I could either stop remembering or stop feeling or maybe both.  Someone told me once that remembering sets you free; then why does it feel like a prison sentence?  I want to remember; I want to forget.  I want not to hurt but if I stop hurting will that mean I stopped remembering?  Life is a catch-22.

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