I’m missing things. I spent the last few days going through boxes of stuff. Photos from this box, birthday cards in this one. In this box, a collection of knick knacks and momentos, their significance lost but still they take up space in my life. Why did I keep a tiny plastic coffin that fits in the palm of my hand? WHo gave me this tiny red toy car designed after a ford focus? Where the hell did I get a butterfly knife? And do I really need these xmas lites?
Looking through photos, I realize the smiling faces are all of strangers. I knew them all at one time. Some were close to me, others were just aquaintences. Some I even dated. All strangers now. Lost connections to lost friends. I was searching these faces, trying to place who they were, where they have gone and, more importantly, why have they gone. I found no answers.
I realized, looking through these boxes, that I felt like I was peeking in on someone elses life. I’m a horrible friend. I let all these people slip out of my life, or maybe I drove them away. I know I have a talent for both. But now, my life doesn’t resemble anything in these boxes. Mementos of a life that was once full. I loook around now, and all I see are empty spaces. Someone told me recently they just want me to be happy. They said this as I knew that my friendship was not needed: I know it wasn’t a hollow gesture, just hard to believe someones well wishes when they are making an effort to exit your life and leave another blank space. Every lost friend, lost connection, it’s a hollow space that engulfs my life. I obsess over it, trying to understand it, trying to figure out why all I have left are knick knacks and photos.
I wish I knew a way to fix this, a way to recconnect with that old life, find these old friends and try to stop the ones leaving my life now. Solitude breeds a certain amount of self contempt. I need to get out. I need to step away from this big empty space.