Recycle

Meticulous since last night, I put all my pictures of m. in one folder and put a copy in online storage.  I know from past experience that it's very stupid to delete every photo you have of someone in the course of breaking things apart...or, in the old days, burn photos.  I think people regret that very much.  It was emotional at times; I cried, but I still sorted the photos.  I never have to look at them again (though I likely will at some point), but at least I know they are there.

Still, as I sorted through my photos (still feeling sad, unbelievably, about my unfriending by his sibling, though who knows?  Pictures of Thistle all the time might have made her sad), I suddenly felt a sustained emotion as if I were literally back in that time of being with m. and buttoned up in the safety and love of his family.  It was amazing--totally gestalt, the way I feel when I am writing and am really conjuring a scene.

I have a few photos of the house m. lived in with his parents and siblings, and suddenly all the time, however brief, I spent with his family came rushing back.  They loved me; perhaps some love and care about me still, and I loved every one of them, even the ones back East I did not meet except through messages and Facebook.  I feel that perhaps it is stupid and wrong to hang onto his family like this, but I always do feel that m. and I will talk again one day and perhaps even be friends.  The sustained emotion was so real, and all the underlying emotions as well.

And with the emotional tuning-in, a very sad realization:  I did not feel worthy to be in this man's family.  That sounds pretty stupid: who wouldn't like to have me as family: a professor, a writer who has been published in literary magazines around the country, etc.  In no way did the family ever make me feel unloved or small, and I was heartbroken many times over to end things with m. because it meant ending things with his family in some way, too.  I bless them for not letting go Thistle and me; it is a kindness I appreciate.

I realize now that my sense of unworthiness to be loved by a family and by m. came from my childhood with two alcoholics (note that the realization came a few days after I began to write a scene in my novel which involved dealing with my mother).  Feelings of being unworthy go hand in hand with growing up in substance-abuse environments.  I had love from these people and I should have embraced it all.  I can at least still hold some of it in my hands. 

I wish I had really been willing to look at those feelings of unworthiness.  It was the most negative thing I took to the table and all my own part in the loss, for there are always two people at fault, stemmed from feeling like an unworthy human being.

Funny, Casey and I exchanged some emails and he said that it is not unusual to have some backtracks in the course of losing someone, that it is normal, and as long as I generally can go about my day, etc., I should consider myself still on the path of healing.

Well, at least all the pictures are safe.  Burning, deleting, and shredding things are never a good idea, no matter how angry you are at first during the loss of a friendship, relationship, etc.   And it was good to unearth some hidden feelings about my own worth.  I do believe in my conscious life that I am a worthy person; it's just that I have to be vigilant about seeing it, all the time.