I was very, very young when I got my first jewellery box. Like many young girls at the time it was a smallish box, covered in satin and when you wound the “key” at the underside of the box then righted it and opened – a ballerina appeared, spinning, as the music box played a familiar tune. Mine had a very delicate tutu. I wanted to be a ballerina back then. I even took a few lessons.
Over the years the jewellery boxes have come as birthday presents, as Christmas presents, from friends and relatives alike. They’ve been small, they’ve played tunes and not – they’ve been grand and had many sliding drawers and doors with glass that opened and closed. And they’ve been simple too, an eclectic mix but all loved for many different reasons.
(all the pictures in this entry will open to their fullest size in a new window when clicked)
I don’t quite remember where ↑ this ↑ particular one came from, and I don’t remember how it got to where it was when I pulled it from the depths of a clothes drawer that hasn’t even been accessible in a very long time. But as soon as I saw it a few days ago, I yelled out loud and hugged it.
And when I opened it? Oh my, how can I explain the collective sensory explosion that took me over? My eyes unable to rest in one place for more than a few seconds…is that? Oh my! I haven’t seen that since? When did I see that last?!
It took me a few minutes to even touch anything inside. I felt an almost reverence towards the chaotically placed contents. I wanted them to rest a bit longer in place before I went to stage 2 of sensory exploration – touch.
With each touch of a necklace, a brooch, obviously 80’s earrings, I was granted access to pieces of myself that I didn’t even know were lost. My memory loss has been a bit of a mystery to me. Not how it happened, that part is perfectly understandable though it’s taken me a while to really see the extent of it which is also understandable.
The mystery is in how I am not as panicked as I thought I’d be. I had a spectacular eidetic (also known as photographic) memory most of my life. I was always worried about what it might be like to lose it. But it turns out you might not stress what you don’t remember, or at least that’s what I’ve come up with so far.
Always looking to see the big picture this has come just when I needed it. What plagues my memory has after 3 (of course) years started plaguing me in many other ways. I have no problem saying I have Epilepsy, I’ll tell the story of how that came to be but I have yet to accept and understand it. Impatient with my lack of progress my body started forcing the issue on its own about 2 months ago with the return of seizures in the form of Simple Partial. 3 (ha!) days ago (I really do NOT mindfully plan this stuff) I have (wait for it) 3 Simple partial seizures in 12 hours.
I wish I would have written down just how much I messed up a sentence (spoken) yesterday. When I was asked to repeat it and I “heard” what I said I decided to laugh instead of cry for how scrambled my brain is right now.
My creative process however remains a near mystery to me. This started out as me taking 1 picture to post on twitter. The creative process is intrinsic to who I am and through it I heal, I grow, I change when change is called for. Not always easily, mind you. Rarely in fact.
The simple box contained a treasure trove of memories that span decades. The far back reach of that span is what makes this discovery particularly appreciated right now. Many of these objects take me back to a time before I was married. After 23 years of marriage you get a wide view of things. Marriage is not easy and rarely properly prepared for. With so much of my 46 years wrapped up in this union (been together 27 of the past 30 years) and with so many of my memories lost or maybe just missing, I don’t have a lot of me any more. And when I go back that far to find me? That kid was diagnosed as Manic Depressive by the time she was 15. She was in a lot of trouble, very little of it by her intended guidance and mostly just a fight to survive moment to moment.
Touching, seeing, smelling, these pieces of my history is like a belated birthday gift from someone who you thought forgot – but it was just lost in the mail. It’s allowing me to colour in shaded pieces of my past that have been greyed out for a while now. Gifts from the past that have become gifts once again. Their meaning and personal wealth, doubled. They aren’t worth anything monetarily which makes them priceless to me. The attachment strictly emotional and if physically lost now tucked away safely in my heart and soul forever.