Boxes

When I went to Kingman, I didn't take much of my stuff back to Flagstaff with me.

I took my violin, which I'll probably sell, both because I don't really plan on playing it much and because it was a gift from Corey and therefore a reminder of him.  I took my sewing machine.  And I took three boxes--one of my winter clothes (which I really needed!), one of notebooks and books (mostly because it had the hard copies of the writing samples I want to use for grad school in it), and one that is all of the sentimental things I accumulated during my relationship with Corey--dried flowers, stuffed animals, photos, love letters, our engagement rings.

The only one I'm going to unpack completely is the one of winter clothes.  I'll take what I need out of the notebooks/books one and throw the rest into storage, and the last one I just wanted here because it's comforting.  I'm not going to open it yet.  I thought I'd want to pull out my engagement ring but then I realized that I don't really want to see it on my finger again, unless it's given back to me by him.

Right now the boxes are just sitting on the porch and I've been putting off unpacking/storing them for a week.  I don't know why but the thought of going through them makes me incredibly anxious and I don't want to do it.  I am absolutely dreading it.

It's silly, really, because it's innocuous stuff--clothes, socks, books that I've owned for years.  I have a few theories.

A) I think the stuff in these boxes are all reminders of the old me.  Not just the me that was with Corey; not just that life (although I'm sure that's part of it).  It's a reminder of being sick and lost and unhappy.

B) It makes me feel cluttered.  One of the most significant symptoms of borderline personality disorder is issues of identity--people with it tend to feel like they don't know who they are.  And I spent years feeling like that.  And when I lived with Corey sometimes I felt . . . like there were a bunch of my identities lying around and I would panic because I wasn't embracing any of them.  Like I'd walk into our NERD room and see my flute and violin, my sewing machine and fabric, my notebooks, and I'd have this sense of panic, like oh yeah, I'm supposed to be a musician and a seamstress and a writer and I'd feel like I didn't know which one was the right me.  It was horrible.  It made it difficult to just live and do what I wanted, because I'd wonder if what I was doing was actually who I was.  (This was going on before I met Corey, too).

But when I moved back up here, I only took what I absolutely needed.  And that was refreshing.  I think not having all of those extra things helped with the identity stuff, and seeing the things in these boxes is like being reminded of other things I'm supposed to be, if that makes sense.  I feel more like I can just do what I want--like I can go hiking and go to grad school and have a job and write and read and whatever and it's all just part of ME--and I really don't want to undo that progress.

(Have I mentioned that being borderline absolutely blows?  Because it does).

C) Seeing more of my stuff here makes it feel like I really do live here.  And obviously, I do live here but . . . I don't know.  It makes it seem more real, more permanent.  It also reminds me that I don't have my own space right now to put all of my stuff, and that's a little frustrating and depressing.

D) I'm a pack rat and have been my whole life (which is probably borderline related) and being here with only what I needed has kind of made me realize how little I need so much of the stuff I have.  But at the same time I can't bring myself to throw things away (probably also borderline related).

Anyway.  I'm determined to suck it up and get to it tomorrow, since I'm off.

After all, they're just boxes.