Burning the Past

The human heart is something I cannot, and think I never want to fathom, especially in combination with the human mind. With all the emotions that swirl, build; recede unexpectedly, only for new ones to crop up, it’s a wonder most people can function on an at least somewhat level manner. There’s anger, hurt, betrayal, joy, peace, comfort; fear, security, frustration, anxiety, loss (not to be confused with grief), humiliation, shame, guilt, freedom, hope, love, lust, hate, loyalty…. This list is endless. There seems to be an emotion for every color and number under the heavens. And beautiful isn’t it, for those emotions, combined with thoughts, and some predeterminations makes us who we are. They are part of the defining mechanism that makes the individual, well, individual.

And none of this surprises me, at the moment that is. What really has the ability to stun me is the complexity and unpredictability of those emotions. How at the least expected time, in the least expected way, they can resurface and drive the human to near madness at their confusion and distortion of real life. One emotion could be lurking under the surface only to have its face show as a completely different sensation rise to the surface.

For all the espousing I have done regarding freedom from the past, and to be sure it was done in good faith and belief within that truth, every once in a while, something triggers me, and the past is no longer the past, it is my present.

The last few months I have been living in the perfect storm for just such a situation to arise. Circumstances within my journey have set themselves just so to pick away at scabs I presumed long healed.

And as these scabs have been sloughed off over the course of the few last months, the nerve endings have become more and more exposed. Ever more raw to the cold winds of winter and the harsh climate of change and growth, as of last night, I hadn’t been able to fall asleep in under an hour since before Christmas.

Unknowingly, what I thought was dead and gone had come back with a vengeance to plant itself once again firmly into the cognizance of my own psyche. What this vengeance showed itself as, was a freight train of memories I couldn’t get off of. Every time my eyes would close, it was a round-a-bout of painful memory after painful memory. No rhyme or reason to them, just every incidence of my life that I am so glad will never occur again. All of the memories I have done my best to cope with, but are too numerous to count.

This freight train has left me exhausted, frazzled, afraid of my own shadow, unable to exist in a place of peace for more than a moment.

Yesterday, as I laid down to take a much needed nap, the same train came barreling down the track, and knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it, to fight it, I just laid there with my eyes wide open, seeing events replay in my minds eye waiting for all of the accompanying emotions to swell over me. And as they did, deeper and deeper I sank into the inevitable depression that comes when too many emotions declare war on your soul.

Knowing something needed to change, I knew I had to do something different. Something that was the opposite of what my emotions were telling me to do. I had to run the opposite direction. Basically I had to stop living under it. And I wanted to, I just had no idea how.

Later that evening, as I finished making my dinner, instead of taking it into the living room, plopping on the couch, fending off my cat and watching What Not to Wear on TLC, I went to my dining room table, sat down and pulled out my Bible.

Reading through a few passages, I began to realize I needed to write what I was really feeling. I needed to set down in paper, not in the third person, but in direct language to someone, something, what I had been harboring.

I didn’t know what I wanted to say, I just knew I wasn’t going to censor it. I was going to let it go. I was going to yell and scream and punch through pen and paper, then I was going to burn it, all of it.

So I began to right, letting epithets go, letting explanatives fly and the name calling flow. I said it all. I belittled and shamed. I told it like I felt it, said it like it needed to be said, and as I got to the end of the page, I realized I didn’t want to say anything else.

So I flipped it over and wrote to someone else: myself. I did the same thing. I asked why, and screamed and yelled through the page. I held nothing back. It was a schizophrenic moment that had to be born. I had to hate and love myself enough to say all the things to me that I had held back. Then I told myself to let it go. I told myself to not let the past ruin the future. Over and over again I told myself to let it go. I had to just let it go. It was hurting no one but me. And once again at the end of the page, I was done.

I sat back, wiped the tears from my eyes, ignored the incoming phone call, and got up. I grabbed the paper, the nearest lighter, and walked back into the kitchen.

I lit the bottom and let the flame dance a little before I dropped it in my sink to finish burning. Ironically enough, I had to relight it about four times. Every time I would relight it, more would burn, but then it would stop, and I would look down and read the words again. The fourth time it finally finished and as it finished and the last words disappeared into an ugly shade of grey, the strangest thing happened: I burst into tears like I haven’t in years.

Unexpected and totally caught off guard I crumpled to the floor. I didn’t even know why I was crying, I just knew I was.

There was years on that sheet. Years of loss, time, trust and love stolen. Not only by others, but what I had stolen from myself as well. What I had blamed me for that I could not have controlled if I wanted to. Mistakes I made in full knowledge that I lived in shame over.

I thought it would be a sense of relief that would fill me when it was gone, but much to my confusion, it was sadness. It was a sense of loss. It was deep, deep grief, and deep, deep hurt and it was a part of me. I had grown to know it, I understood it. It had become an odd friend. A partner and constant companion, and now it was gone, along with all the years that went with it.

I guess if I still had the grief and the pain of those years, they weren’t really stolen yet. It was a way for me to continue to live in the past that was already gone. Now it was exposed. It was all a farce. The grief and hurt were cheap substitutions for what I had lost, but what I was going to do without even that?

A day later, some of the emotions having run their course, there is a new emotion I face: neutrality. The train having finally left the station, I feel no real sense of joy, but no longer do I tread lightly through the minefield of my mind.   

I am not yet sure where this leaves me, where I stand now, but I do know it’s better than where I was. I know daily I will have to let go. See letting go is forgiveness with a different name. I may have to write more letters, cry more tears, burn more pages, but it’s a start. For now the memories are just that: memories. They hold no real power, and I am able to recognize them as such. Still raw, I wrap myself gently in the knowledge that whatever I believe about me, there is One who has chosen me in spite of ever thing. Like a warm blanket I purposefully pull it over my head and remind myself that though forgiveness for myself and others is part of this battle He has asked me to travel, I have His heart to fall into, and the depth of it is love for me.

And as cheesy and churchy as that sounds, in real practicality it means that no matter what has been done to me, or that I have done, He will always seek to bless me. He will fight for my future when I can’t. He will rescue me when I need it, and He will always battle for goodness in my life. Practically and in real time. Not as a far off thought that has little relevance, but more real than my emotions His love is constantly protecting, guiding, providing for and clearing a path for me.

For now, that is enough. Whatever lies below will find its way up, it always does. For now, the blanket is what is needed, and thankfully, it is provided.