Contemplating parts of myself


It’s hard to describe but, sometimes the thoughts inside rise up like a tidal wave of memories, so strongly do I feel them, it’s like I could reach out and physically touch them.

I get stuck in a deep thought that winds itself around my mind, deeper and more deeply, it draws me in.

I am lying here staring at this painting, my sister made, ages and ages ago. It’s mine, I claimed it as such, ages and ages ago. For a time, I had to leave it with Shay while my life was somewhat harder and more broken, but she remembered and when I was able to move into her home, once again, she had it ready for me. Already in my new room…as if it had not been gone from me at all. This understanding, this familial love, is a gift. It makes this painting more than it began its life as. It has become part of my history.

I am not a person who attaches herself to things. A fact which annoys many of my family members.

Something gets broken or stolen, and I get much more upset about the empty space on the wall or the soul of the person who felt a need to take something from me.

It’s not that I don’t care about my things, it’s that..in my deepest heart, I recognize that these things can’t come with me when I pass away anyway, and getting upset if they leave me sooner, is a waste of emotion. It’s not the object I miss, it’s the memory it represented.

People like tangible memories. It is a connection to someone they loved. A way to connect to them still. “I am standing in front of something that someone I loved stood in front of, so if I stand in front of it too, I am still connected to them”..but, for me..this is how I feel without the object. Because, I am the thing that stood in front of the person I loved. They looked into my eyes, my soul, and I looked into theirs..and that is why..I keep the connection to them inside me. I cherish my memories more than the objects that hold them.

And yet. I lie here looking at this painting and I let it surround me with its beauty. I cherish this..because something could happen to this painting and I know that I would be sad..which, is why I cherish it all the more while it is before me.

People forget to cherish things while they have them and I, for whatever reason, never seem to do that.

I’m not bragging that I am special or anything (I once felt quite the opposite about it) it’s just that..this quality of mine, sets me different from other people. It makes me a bit strange compared to them.

I use to get soo upset because I am not like everyone else. I am, and have ever been, marked by others as odd for my differences..it’s taken me ever soo long to embrace these differences, and now, I am coming to love them, more and more, as I age.

As a child, I often would be lectured for not caring for my things more carefully “Your grandma bought you that before she died! You should take better care!” I felt like a bad kid. Why wasn’t I more like my sisters? They wrapped things up carefully in tissue paper and only took them out on special occasions.

Me? I’d wear the perfume until the scent only remained on my clothes and I could just barely scent it when I wore them, at least until they were washed. New blankets would be loved threadbare, cherished dishes would be played with until the pattern faded straight off.

Oh! The fun I had while the thing as with me! I had epic pretend tea parties! The joy of hugging cherished dolls as I whispered secrets and dragged them through damp grass.

Yes, I am different. I have ever been but, I am learning that, though I am different, I was not loving these items less than my sisters did..I just loved them in a different manner..and that is, perhaps, something I can accept about myself. My way too has value.

Published by Bexley Benton. (Pen name)

I am B (call me BB and I will gut you) I like daisies, books, and men who understand the wisdom of Kermit the Frog.

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