I spent Saturday up in the beautiful mountains with Justine, my parents and my brothers moving furniture to a new home for my one brother. It was a scenario where he needed furniture and Justine and I had too much, so it worked out for both of us. Plus we got to spend the day in tranquility. Unfortunately, I forgot the camera, but rest assured, there will be many visits in the future.
While there, my brother revealed that while he was unpacking, he found hundreds of photographs from his youth, which also included several of me. I used to be a goofy kid.
Why can’t I remember it?
I don’t remember any of it. When I questioned my mom all she said was “You used to be a happy person.”
Which actually reinforces something I’ve been privy to discover about myself in recent years. I feel I have a lot of suppressed aggression, but the funny thing is, I don’t feel angry. I just feel…i don’t know, it’s hard to describe…sad, but in a weird way. Not like ‘boo hoo’ sad, because, frankly, I have nothing to be sad about, but it’s the feeling of being down. I don’t like the word depression, because I don’t feel that fits what I’m trying to describe, but hell, I’m no doctor.
In discussing things with Justine, Mom and Steven in the past few weeks, they both agree that I have a lot to be angry about, to which I agree, but why doesn’t it just pass and go away? There is no sense in staying angry at things that cannot be changed, and I know this, but it seems my brain just dismisses the anger to suppression instead of release.
Maybe I should seek help? You know, because therapists don’t have their own issues to deal with. Right.