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psychological de-cluttering

Psychological De-Cluttering

It’s really a thing, but also a mind project, and I might even be graded.

It’s been like opening the mail, because I’ve compartmentalized so much that the magnitude of content I’d written wasn’t realized, and now seems overwhelmingly excessive [grammarly on pause].

I came across a box of keepsakes I thought I’d thrown away, and in it were several letters my ex-husband had written to me before we married. I don’t remember what I felt when I first read them so long ago, and now, I realize he didn’t know me because I didn’t know me. And love, well, outside of the words I was never sure how he loved me, but that was something I didn’t ponder until many years had passed.

I let them go gently, knowing that at that time they were written he felt something, and that when I read them I must have felt something, while now understanding that feelings and love aren’t the same. 

Who will love like me? I wonder sometimes. Is it possible? Sure. Anything’s possible. Maybe they wouldn’t take a bullet for me even though I’d take one for them, but I don’t think that means the love in them isn’t right, it could mean the love in me isn’t.

The hope is that the flurry of posts will eventually dwindle to nothing, which will mean the cleaning is done, and that all my reflecting, hoping, whining, and pining will have become the kind of past that hasn’t been packed away beneath mental beds and closets to give the appearance of tidiness.  I’ve tired myself out tripping over them while getting dressed each day and ending up sidetracked by stacked boxes of memories.  I’d like to open this blog someday and let it go, never to return.


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