The Mystery of History.

I’m by my very nature, a nostalgic person. I look at the past as something to aspire to, and simply to recall bygone but wonderful events in my life that are irreplaceable relics in my memory. Going to Vegas for Halloween with my very best friends in October, and in the same month, going to Seattle to see Ryan Adams’ solo acoustic gig at Benaroya Hall were both unforgettable, wonderful memories that I will NEVER forget. Other times, memories of dark-streaked events in my life can either recall in me a stirring feeling of inadequacy, or instill in me, the fear that something so terrible will happen again.

A lot of my bad memories have left me shell-shocked. And they’re unforgettable too. And I wonder, how is it that some things so wonderful are kept in memory banks in the same place where these black hole memories are stored? Both memories teach something important – both are important – but in such different ways that it seems unfair to categorize them both under the euphonic umbrella of “memories”.

In the last seven and a half years of my life, I’ve lived more, experienced more, and done more good in my life than in my previous 17 years of life combined. And yet… all of those good things still can’t eliminate, override, or make complete light of my plagues of blackness. There are sinister memories that linger and instill in my head a voice that serves as a constant reminder that lurking benath happiness is something awful which is now chained and is waiting to be unleashed at some point. Why do I believe I’ll never be safe from these memories? Logically, I probably am. Once we make mistakes, and we remember those mistakes as clearly and unsympathetically as I remember mine, why would I repeat them? When I ask myself these questions, I’m left without an answer. Because our own personal history affects us in complex, unexplainable and very intimate ways.

In my life, both ages and ages ago and recently, I allowed people into my life who abused my trust and forced me to feel like a second-class citizen who was/is unworthy of manifestations of even the most basic human dignity. And now, I know people who are not like this – poeple who would never think of hurting me and only have my best intentions in hand. And the latter people have afflicted my understanding of human nature so much, that I’m unable to give them the benefit of the doubt. I assume the worst in people. My memory serves me “correctly” technically and I can’t get past it. I don’t know how it is that people who have impacted and affected me negatively somehow have more power over my thoughts than those who have said and done nothing but positive things in my life. I wish I could get past that and live my life by giving those who have had a very loving, affirming and positive impact on my life the same care and respect as they have shown me.

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