most of us have experienced it; that point which you think that the sum of your existence, who you are, what you are, or what you are doing is truly worse than never having existed at all.  despite this complete envelopment in self-loathing, despair, and inconceivable anguish, at some point after the paramount-cumulative-compelling-tip-top-apparent ends, you open your eyes and realize that your perception has altered, that the worst has passed, that you have weathered and withstood great adversity, that you still exist, that you still are capable of breath and tears and joy and everything in between; that you still have a chance to make things right.

you slowly and methodically pack the baggage; lost hopes, unrealistic expectations, self doubt, disappointment, loneliness, fear, anger, resentment, disgust, misplaced compassion, unfortunate empathy, damaged self-esteem, inability to trust, and the soul eating, life controlling, suffocating hatred. the hatred proves the most difficult to release; both sorrowful and powerful, its stoic companionship responsible in many ways for your endurance through this all. a shell, delicate yet nearly impenetrable, this hatred protected you despite the intense and innate fragility of its composition. it is frustrating how our own fragility is exemplified in examination of these parasitic emotions.

Everything goes into the box, some in days, others in weeks or months, others still years after the fact, having been long forgotten and late triggered through familiarity. at some point you become satisfied that the contents of the box represent the majority of obstacles created through your experience, and you close the top, add ample postage, mark "destination unknown," and ensure that there will be no return address. It is with great satisfaction that this chapter is closed, the hypothetical postman carting off your intangible, yet ample, curious baggage. Now you feel confident and sure of your ability to heal, move forward, learn and grow wise, share with others, grow, persevere, and make right in whatever way possible mistakes or missteps which haunt you still.

Time passes. You laugh, love, grow, and trudge forward. Those things are a distant and sad memory but you work hard and well to pay proper respects to your self-imposed obligations to right the wrongs, and success is achieved but never with the same satisfaction as others seem to realize in similar pursuits. It is ok because you truly are starting to feel pride in your accomplishments, despite the unfortunate beginnings.

One day, you open the door and see the box right in front of you.  You stare in disbelief, wondering if the box ever left at all, that perhaps you had been deluding yourself for all these years that the emotional ramifications of your actions or lack thereof, regardless the circumstances under which they occurred, could be boxed and and returned like an ill fitting pair of shoes.  That anger, the intense hatred and disgust is the first to return, despite having been so difficult to let go.  It returns with such fury that you feel as if it also never truly dispersed. You begin to feel as though the box, the baggage, the struggle will forever be at your front door, no matter how many times you step around or through them, so long as you pretend that they do not exist...  

bring it inside.  it is part of who you are and that shouldn't be diminished.    don't let others fill your soul with their emotional garbage.  you are who you are today, not who you were yesterday, nor who you will be tomorrow.  we are the sum of our experiences, both good and bad.  puzzles, mosaics, mirrors reflecting mirror reflecting mirrors into endless oblivion.  life is beautiful.

someone who helped me fill that box to the brim just reappeared, and i'm trying, trying, trying to close the lid