When I broke free of that box. When I finally found the courage to bust through the barriers that were keeping me in that life, I realized that I was alone. There was no one there to soften my fall. There was no one there to guide me out of the mess my life had become. At this time it became so blatantly obvious to me just how controlled I had been. I was used as a puppet to manipulate my own life into something that I could not recognize.
So, as I was sitting there, sifting through the mountain high pile of paperwork, photos, letters, cards, folders and notebooks, it never crossed my mind that I would find something that would bring up strong negative emotions. But I found something that did. I was reading a card from my sister. Smiled at the sentiment. Then placed it in the "put in souvenir" pile. Picked up the next piece of paper. A college ruled piece of notebook paper that was folded into quarters. I unfolded the paper, first once, then twice. I saw the handwriting on the paper and froze. Stunned. Held in place by fear and just more than an ounce of hatred.
It was his handwriting. Jotting out some plan of what file he'd worked on that day. What was written there didn't matter. What mattered what the insurmountable feeling of fear, hatred and repulsion towards him. Hatred because of what he did to me. Repulsion because I get sick to my stomach thinking about having spent time with him and almost marrying him. And fear that somehow, someway he will find me. That he will be able to build that box up around me again.
I put the piece of paper down. I look up to my surroundings. I am comforted by my dogs, who are passed out on the sofa and their beds. They have a peacefulness about them. They have an innocence about them. They are unworried by this piece of 8 1/2 x 11 notebook paper. It poses no threat to them. They are no more concerned about this piece of paper then they are lint on the floor. What threatens them are mean dogs, strangers knocking on the door and not getting dinner.
I look down at that piece of paper that somehow has found it's way into the "souvenir" pile. I pick it back up. I see that handwriting. The emotions run over me again. I feel my face contort into a sad painful expression. I can feel my heart beating faster. The tears in my eyes are forming. I think to myself, "I do not want this piece of paper in my house. It is negative. It sucks my happiness from me." I place the paper in the "to shred" pile.
I sit back. Momentarily content with my accomplishment. I look up at the fire place. One of my dogs has moved to roast his belly in front of the wood stove. He's quite content. See? Not worried one bit about that piece of paper. I look back at the fire. A grin forms on my face. I take the piece of paper off the "to shred" pile. Open the door to the wood stove. Place the paper on top of the log that is burning. The paper lights up in a milli-second. The mini inferno it creates turns my grin into a smile. Within a minute the paper with the handwriting on it has been consumed by the fire.
As I sit here and reflect back to this afternoons event, I am quite happy with what I've accomplished. I am very pleased with myself for coming up with such a creative way to destroy a very poisonous prop to my unhappiness. Might I even say I am proud of myself?
The box has been finished. All of the paper work has been sorted into stacks to deal with at another time. The negativity from the box has been purged and all that is left is memorabilia and financial items. I'm looking forward to turning the rest of my house into a no negativity zone as well. I'm looking forward to building up the happiness in my life. After all, we could all use a little more happiness, right?
You should be proud of you. It's hard to let go sometimes, even of bad things. Good job.
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