My challenge? Writing about remembering when I just don't want to. How can I paint my lovely memories in words, smear them all over this page, when a lot of stuff I just want to pretend never happened. Sure I've got my good ones, pleasant, bright, sunshiny thoughts that pop into my mind and make me smile. But the crap? That can stay right in the back of my brain, in a small, dusty cardboard box marked forever with 'do not open'. I like to think about the good, my wedding day, my children's birth, my baptism and the day my Husband strolled into my world. I do not, however, like to remember Fright Nights at Thorpe Park, freaky conversations with seemingly non-freaky people and the dark edges of living that scratch a creepy feeling across my shoulders.
Scary films leave a blueprint in my 'do not open' box. When they edge into my mind I have nightmares, convincing myself of horrors unknown. Crap from my past, rather than reminding me how strong I am now reminds me how weak I once was, how I was that way once, how I could be that way again.