Finally got around to clearing all my schoolbooks, old letters, diaries, etc from the loft - over 30 years' worth. A job I had been dreading. The actual lugging of the boxes took about 40 mins, the reading through the old letters etc, and deciding what to dump and what to hold on to, will take several more days, if not weeks. So careful not to let the pain of the past get to me, but it is creeping in gently, with each 'forgotten' letter that I have opened.
Revisiting the past can be so painful, even if it wasn't an awful past. Yes, I had my fair share of hurts, upsets, disappointments and challenges, and even quite a difficult childhood in many respects, but that is not where the pain comes from. Suprisingly, it's from the good things I am coming across: the cherished letters from friends, written on scraps of paper, bits of schoolbook, and fancy stationery, passed in lessons and given at break times; a few 'love letters' from boyfriends; the endless postcards from people (some of whom I don't remember) who thought enough of me to keep in touch with me from their holidays; the odd photos of me as a teenager and in my early teens, looking far more attractive than I had ever remembered I did; the party invites and hundreds of cards; in short the 1001 little scraps and tokens of my younger years.
And what is it that upsets me? That I am searching through all of this, still trying to find myself. Where did I disappear to, the beautiful, funny, talented, vibrant young woman that I was? And when did I go? I left nothing behind .. no clues that I can follow up on. No children where I can see myself in them, no husband who I can look back and share wedding photos with.
Nothing.
The trail has gone cold. And still I look.
And what of my friends? Those who grew with me, knew me, and shared my teenage years? My closest, dearest one moved to Australia almost 15 years ago, and I have not seen her since. Scant Facebook messages and the odd phone call aren't enough to bridge the gap and she has her own life very much now, married with children. Other friends, not so close, have moved on and away. Sure I have much cherished new friends, brought together as we were through jobs, interests, and the like. But they can't bear witness to my history, to the girl I was. My past doesn't live on in them.
So, still I keep searching for the lost me.
The present is a strange time, I don't know who I am any more. The future worries me - if it's more of the same, do I really want to experience it? So my safety is in the past, the one I keep looking to to remind myself of what has been, what I was. But it isn't there. That's why I feel sad.
