Today I found an art binder filled with drawings and poetry I’d written from August 2004 to some time mid-2005. Around this time I stopped writing my stories, fell in love and then got my heart broken. Or rather, I fell in love, stopped writing my stories and got my heart broken.
Throughout the relationship, for some reason, I drew, and today, so many years later, I saw the evolution of that relationship grow from the first happy and peaceful drawings I’d made (that he had marked my name and the date I’d drawn them) until the last ones, mostly dark and almost gory, almost a year later. He had actually saved every one, purchasing an art binder to store the drawings in.
I’ve held on to those drawings and poems since then but today, after finding the binder while tidying up one corner of the living room, I knew it was time to let go. Of course, today is the day that Dr. Christine Blasey Ford appears before the Senate to answer questions so I needed to stay offline as best I could. I’ve noticed that ever since the #metoo movement began, I’ve been experiencing PTSD from my own past experiences. It’s affected my writing and my overall mood and some days, I swear I’m not just an anxious mess, but a depressed one, too.
Anyway, back to the drawings. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d let go of them and destroy them one page after another. But I did. And with each rip of the paper, I could see my past unraveling right before my eyes. And my heart. It was also a sort of forgiveness for myself for falling as hard as I did then.
I can always draw again. I can always write poetry again. But the sketches and poems of that time belong in the past and I can’t keep them any longer. But if there’s one thing I wish I could keep from that time, though, it’s my handwriting.
At least, back then, it was still legible.