Ah, memory. The thing that reminds us of our existence and connects us to others. The thing that makes us remember what rain smells like or our father’s favorite color. Memory is something that we all need. But sometimes, memory hangs in the distance. Sometimes, memory is the very thing we need to let go of. Even when it stays long after someone leaves.
For what felt like the 15th time in my life, I had fallen in love. It was the second semester my freshman year of college, and I didn’t know how beautiful life was until I met him.
But some things don’t last, and change comes whether we’re ready for it or not. Long story short, our intense-and-often-manic love affair ended after about three months.
It wasn’t my first breakup, and wouldn’t be my last. But for weeks—even months afterward, I sat thinking that maybe he would come back into my life. In the midst of hard times, I would imagine him there. Thinking that he would be with me, to hold me, to take some of the pain away. Someone to watch movies with or maybe just watch the stars.
Through countless scenarios and daydreams, I was able to make my fantasies seem more like real life. It was easy to get lost in my head because the reality I dreamt up was better than the one I was living. Sometimes, it’s easier to escape than to accept.
He never came back into my life. There was no midnight phone call, no letter slipped in my mailbox, no running into him by some coincidence. Only a party that I went to a year later that I heard he was at too. I thought maybe I saw him in the dim lighting, leaning against the wall, fluorescent colors bouncing off his body.
Who knows if it was him or not? All I knew was that it has been 12 months since I spoke to him, and I’d spent at least half of those trying to get over him. It was a waste of my time, and I couldn’t seem to pull myself out of it.
Through countless hours of daydreaming, I almost forgot that he wasn’t in my life anymore. And I would daydream anywhere: in class, on the train, at work. It became obvious to me that I was living more in my head than in waking life.
It was obsessive, and it had to stop. Daydreams may provide solace for a while, but mine was completely out of control. I was spending time daydreaming when I could have used it toward painting, or writing, or becoming the person that I wanted to be.
My memories needed to stay just as that, memories. It was okay to miss him, but in order to move on with my life, I had to live in reality. I had to own my truth and to be able to separate that truth from fantasy. This has been one of my greatest challenges.