Why do the good memories come with ease, and with tremendous pain? It’s a beautiful sunrise and I think of how on one of our many, many walks with the dogs I tapped him on his shoulder and told him to turn around and look at it, and he did, and we were awed by the blues and pinks and purples on the horizon. Now those same sunrises, while still magnificent and beautiful, they can almost crush me in seconds.
Why aren’t the bad memories so easily recalled? Why are they so blurry, not even as close to as vivid as the good ones? Those shitty memories have to be dredged up or reminded to me by someone else, like the time we went out to dinner with friends and he kept complaining I was being too loud and I cursed too much. I had completely forgotten all about that night until my best friend told me about it. That was an interaction that made an impression on her; him being so critical of me, putting me down when everyone else was having a good time, and he chose to focus on the negativity and point out my flaws to my friends.
And still my brain insists that I wallow in what was, what could have been, and lets me sink when I’m begging to be lifted up and out. I’m waiting impatiently on the anger that I know will come. I will welcome it in, I will embrace it, because I know with it comes a motivation and a determination that makes me think “Fuuuuck THIS. You interrupted enough of what was making me happy, making me laugh. You stopped me short of fully enjoying myself, my friends, my family, my daydreams, fuck if I allow you to continue taking from me even after you’re gone!”
I’m getting there, closer and closer each day. But for now, I’m still waiting. Those ambrosial memories swirling, mixing, and marinating in the bitters of the others, creating a concoction, an antidote, a healing salve to help with the wounds. I’ll still be adding more of those cherished-turn-painful memories to the mix, I’m quite sure of it. But I’m just going to have to keep stirring constantly until done.