I'm thinking about old things. Past things. Things that I loved (but also hated), things that made me who I am. Things I miss but shouldn't, really.
Because if you put me back there, in those places, with those people, those relationships...
I would go insane. Figuratively, literally, clinically. I would be mostly sad and scared and angry and never at peace. This would be colored by small moments of intense happiness and wondrous pleasure.
But nowhere near enough to be worth it.
I think I enjoy these things as entities. On their own, they are beautiful and perfect and only good. Once I start interacting with them, it's like picking a scab. It's so enticing and then you do it and you remember how much it hurt. But you do it every time. Because you can't resist.
Is this bad or good? Is it nice that I can remember most events or people that gave me any happiness as a 'good experience'? Or is classifying them as positive just evidence of my ignorance and utter stupidity?
Perhaps it's a testament to my humanity.
My real question is: how much time does it take? To heal these wounds that I don't notice until, you know, I notice them. When will I stop wanting to relive those times?
I want to acknowledge their place in my life and the lessons that were imparted to me. But I also want to fully realize and embrace the fact that they were not good. They are not. They will not be. They did harm. And now? No harm is being done. Now there is no question and I am so happy. More purely happy than I might have ever been.
Except this. Which I think is holding me back. And that breaks my heart.
But I don't know how to make it go away.