Who wants to remember anyway?

Today I read this: ‘The scariest thing about memories is thinking you’re going to forget them.’ And I thought, ‘that can’t be right. Really?’ What I wouldn’t give to forget, right? What would I not give up so I could get my sleep back.

Then I realised that the rest of the world had memories they cherished. They remembered nice things. Good things. I know I have some of those too. But what if it meant having to give them all up, and I mean ALL of them, if it meant never having to remember the crap? What would I do? Would I give them up? The good memories as well as the bad? Throw the baby out with the bathwater?

With the way life has been going and the things I have come to know; with the thoughts that never leave me alone, with the images I cannot shake, with the ideas that haunt me night and day, with the words I cannot get out of my mind, with even the good memories now slowly turning rancid…

Yes,  I probably would.

What am I going to do with all these memories anyway? Tell my grandchildren? Write a sob story memoir? Use them as bait for sympathy fucks? I’m so done with all the ‘life’ my brain hoards. Let it go, already, mind. You’ve let yourself go already. What are you holding on to? Let it go. The good, the bad, the very ugly, the famously beautiful… Just throw it all out. We’re done wanting to remember.

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