Blog 140: Stereopathetic Blogmanure

A word on sneak attacks:

One little doorway into the past, found beneath layers of still loose soil, gets opened. The door that I'd blocked, barred with a barrier that I spent a year pounding nails into as softly as I could. It was not unlike scratching a mosquito bite or a post-quit cigarette or even ten more minutes of sleep before work, a thing that you know will only do you harm, but sometimes you can't stop yourself. Things that test your mettle.
One might say I am meager in mettle, for though I saw the door again and knew the crushing weight of so many trapped memories that lay behind it, I had to open it just a crack.
Where once the torrent would have washed me away to a sunken hollow, now there was a support at my back. The cascading remembrance forced it's usual weight upon me but the new memories, replacing loneliness with dizzying hopefulness, stood true to divert the tide and I remained upright.
As the lingering soak of what scratched scars sets upon me evaporated, I turned to embrace my new anchor only to find that it was her embrace that had saved me from drowning again. Once I had steadied myself again she let me stand on my own then walked to the open door and removed it from it's weary hinges and said:
Let's leave it open.
The past holds no pressure.
You're strong enough to spread your arms wide to the dark of who you were and not fear the cold wind that may pass through it.
Because you are who you are now. Not who you were then.