Maybe I am just silly sauce, but I thought this phrase had a positive connotation. I have now come to understand that the afromentioned blast refers to something akin to the shrieks of fire and noise accompanying the atom bomb.
Here is the thing. I do not care for the past. At all. And being revisited by it is just disturbing. The tricky part is that aspects of the past live with me and people from my past hover on the fringes of my present and I am still unsure how to navigate those interactions.
This past week, I was in a store near my old homestead. I had a mild panic attack. I used to be in that store once a week, easy. Buying things for a life I didn't want and couldn't see my way out of and am obviously not over yet, because being there again, just to get milk, was upsetting. I was glad there was no line and I could check out quickly.
Even though it isn't the case at all, and even though I know that it is just a store and a half-gallon of milk, being there felt like going back. I do not want to go back. That is why I left. I want to move forward and away. I want an in-tact heart and a peaceful mind.
I want to buy my skim milk without suffering heart palpitations.
I understand that everything that happens to us makes up a part of who we are, so I do not want to pretend that things didn't happen or act like it wasn't real. I just want to learn and heal and then go bye-bye.
Stupid milk.
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