Goodbye old friends

Me and L did some serious cleaning last week. The kind where only about a third of your stuff survives the cuts. There was a lot of junk in there. Stuff I had grown out of love of, piles of old papers and things that no longer had a purpose in my life. And in the middle of all that were my childhood toys. I've had a very rocky childhood and most of my time I spent alone with my toys. They were my anchor, my sounding board, my playmates, my buddies. Of course they weren't all in one box; those were just the ones I wanted to keep for sentimental reasons. In the middle of that small memory bundle were the stuffed dog I slept with for years and the doll my mother gave me on my last birthday before she died.

That box that I specifically said "to keep!" was mistakenly thrown away. It might seem like the smallest thing (especially if you consider all that's been going on in my life in the past few months), but it was enough to get me sobbing for over an hour. I've been under open fire on so many fronts and I've been doing all the right things, despite how hard and hurtful it all is. And this was probably the last straw. So I collapsed. I want my old toys back and sadly that's not going to happen. Ever. The wolf says to think of it as a new beginning. Like shedding my skin and starting afresh. To think of all the new memories we'll build and all the new stuff we'll gather through the years. I get his point, I really do. But today I kinda have to mourn my loss. Even if it wasn't human to start with.