Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Box (no, not that bad Cameron Diaz movie)

Oh! I totally forgot about this until just now! When I was visiting my parents earlier this month, I discovered a box in the guest room closet that had things like graduation mementos, old notes from friends and even a few love letters! Also, in a plain white envelope was a letter addressed to me in what looked like my handwriting. I opened it to find a letter we had been asked to write to ourselves back in 10th grade English class (shout out to Anna)! Let me tell you, revisiting your 15-year-old self can be a little scary.

First of all, I was depressed. Most of you know that I have dealt with diagnosed depression since 2000, but it seems it started much earlier than that. I noted how I just didn’t feel like myself anymore — unhappy, interested in the same things, wanting to cry all the time. I think those things could be chalked up to normal teenage hormones, but given how everything played out, perhaps it was something more serious. BTW -- after 11 years, I am finally going off anti-depressants for good (you know, because of the whole trying-to-get-pregnant thing).

Next of all, I talked about boys (duh!). My girlfriends were all dating someone at that time and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I named a few guys I had a crush on and I can tell you that I never ended up with any of them, but I’m not complaining. At that point in time it seems I had a penchant for greasy, stoner types who played hacky sack in the hallway. Um, ew. I have no idea what I was thinking back then. Thank goodness I passed that phase PDQ.

As for the love letters, I should have probably thrown them away, but it was sweet to read a few. I can definitely say that I have been “loved” in my lifetime. And although all my love goes to my husband these days, those relationships and boys who crossed my path along the way helped make me who I am today so throwing them away somehow felt like throwing away a little piece of me. Instead, I just folded them back up and returned the box to its place in the closet.

Opening that box brought back all sorts of memories, but as much as I sometimes miss the innocence and lack of responsibility of youth, all in all I am happier to be 32, married and hoping to bring a child of our own into the world who can start filling her own box of memories.

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