I’d rather not talk about things that make me uncomfortable. Topics and experiences that force me to think about things I’d rather not make me feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach with a baseball. I avoid these types of conversations similarly to how I avoid my homework—until I can’t anymore.
My past is a pathway of things I’m trying to forget and those I’m clutching to. Memories come in waves that make me grateful for the shore that is the present. Although I sometimes want to dive back into the complicated waters and let them take me under, I’ve decided the unstable sand is a safer place to stay.
“What was your childhood like?” asks a survey we are taking for psychology class.
Sometimes I can’t answer that question. Other times, I can think back to bike rides and trips to McDonalds with my siblings and grandma after church every Sunday. Yet all those flashbacks are silent films with a distorted voiceover. I can hear yelling, fighting, and unhappy times.
If there was any way for me to go back in time and fix everything I would.
“What would I be willing to sacrifice to go back and make everything better?” A lot. The list has made me question what makes me happy.
I try not to think about it; there’s no way to go back and although the present isn’t the best, at least it’s not the past. ♦