These dumb forks. I had two of them but they were thin and cheap and good for certain things so I kept them around. Like, slicing butter, eating small things because they were pointier, I don’t know, I’m probably just crazy. I know I’m off my rocker, everyone knows this and it’s why people love me. Maybe, I don’t know, hold on, gotta go analyze myself until my anxiety rages.
A little over a year ago I testified in court to the physical abuse that I had endured with him. That year mark hit me harder than I thought it would. I went thru a phase where I thought back to our relationship more often and the dreams/nightmares returned. However, with every gut punch, I heal a little more, forgive myself a little more, let go more. The punches hit fewer and further between, usually less painful than the last. This particular year mark got me, though. I wasn’t ready.
Anyways, these stupid ass forks. A wise person told me last summer that in order to heal from a relationship, you had to get rid of anything and everything that you tie to that person. So, I did, or at least I thought I had done a pretty good job of it. I just still had these ugly forks that I kept finding reasons to keep. The problem was that every single time I opened the drawer and that fork was on top, I thought about him. I thought about the good times, immediately followed by the bad, followed by the last time I saw him. These forks were actually unhealthy reminders that I had attached myself to. WHY?! I really don’t know. Last week, I opened the drawer and there one was, a stupid ass ugly cheap fork that I had held onto for years, an embarrassing amount of years at this point. I picked it up, felt a little sad but more healed than ever and tossed it in the trash. Tuesday, it happened again. I opened the drawer and there on top was the other stupid ass ugly cheap fork that I was emotionally attached to. I threw it in the trash. I’m pretty sure I only had those two but I’m too tired to check.
What was it about these FORKS? If I’m being honest, I think they initially felt tied to the happy moments. He’d cook breakfast and bring me my plate with one of these forks, always with a big proud smile on his face. For dinner, I’d cook and make him a plate and give it to him with one of these forks. He always packed lunch for work and would toss in one of these forks. Or, he’d pack lunch for me and he’d give me one of his forks. Over time they started jumping houses, back and forth. Frickin forks, man. They represented the moments when he took care of me and I of him. Weird, right? I know.
So, the forks are gone but the memories, good and bad, remain. It was past time for these forks to go in the trash. Now, if I could just get rid of this last t-shirt and the two paintings his mom did herself and sent me…
Nobody talks about the forks. No one warns you.
Come As You Are... 