My memories are a labyrinth
Winding corridors
Secret doors
Dead ends and pitfalls
These are the first lines in a recent poem I wrote called My Memories. The poem is not very good. I shied away from what I really wanted to say.
My mind is a Labyrinth
Winding corridors
Dead ends and pitfalls
The monster is my memories.
Lately I find my mind twisting and turning back on itself. Linking memory to memory in a winding path that leads me back to my sister’s death. Even this post is another trip through the labyrinth with the same destination.
The path is well worn
Leading from room to room
Each one a tableau,
A story leading me deeper.
When she died, I spiraled into depression. The same kind of depression I feel now. Maybe that is why I keep returning to those memories. Maybe they resonate with the same emotional chord. I feel closer to her death than I have in years. I can’t claim to have completely healed from her death, I still have days that my memories reach for her only to find her gone, but the blow of remembering she is gone has lessened.
Deeper to the center
The center where the monster lives
The Monster I created from memories
The Memories I wished to forget.
I remember too much to tell in this space but mostly I remember sitting in the hallway of the hospital. Family had gathered in the hallway because this was the last time we would be able to see her, the last chance we had to say goodbye. It all happened so quick. Less than a day. I remember the end of the hallway was a big window. I remember wanting to throw myself through that window to escape from having to wait for her to die.
I can’t forget these memories
They loom over my mind
I wish I could forget them
But if I could I wouldn’t.
My sister’s death caused me much pain. I became more depressed than I had ever been before. I reached the breaking point where I sought out help from my local county health services. I was denied. I quit my job. I felt completely lost.
My memories are a Monster.
Not evil, Not malicious,
Just painful.
We make monsters of things we don’t want to see.
But then, things began to change. I found some new friends. I found a new job. I found acceptance from the people around me. My sister’s death didn’t directly lead me to any of these things but it was part of the journey. My life has not been smooth sailing since then. There are ups and downs. Her death was a major down in my life and while I wish it had never happened; I would never want to forget that it did.
I didn’t want to write this poem and mini-memoir. I needed to write this. I needed to work through these feelings and to not shy away from these memories. I’m not cured of my depression but I feel like I’ve found a new path through the labyrinth.