I called my mother the other day to go over last minute details of our upcoming trip. Specifically, I wanted to know if we were going to go grocery shopping there, so I could determine whether I needed to bring certain "Tiptoe" food or not. She said that we would be and not to worry about it. Half of me was glad, the other half not.
Just as I was about to hang up the phone, another conversation started:
Mom: Oh, I found that medallion.
Me (very surprised): Really, where was it?
Mom: It was in the jewelry box. Not the ballerina one, but another one. You are right--it is beautiful and quite heavy. There is no hole in it, but there is a chain with it.
I thanked my mom for finding it and then hung up the phone. As I sat in my car, I had a sudden surge of emotions that filed through every part of my body. It didn't make sense to me why I felt this way since I had originally asked my mom to look for this specific medallion.
I know it may not make sense to those of you reading this, but this medallion has a lot of history. It represents a time I wish to forget, a time of hurt, confusion, pain, and shame. I told my therapist C. about this medallion awhile back and said if I found it, I would burn it. I got this idea from a friend in college who I knew wound up burning all her love letters from her ex-boyfriend who did not treat her well. She told me it was a very cathartic experience for her. I began to think that maybe I could feel that way too if burned this piece of metal.
Now, however, I don't know. I don't know whether I am gutsy enough to burn such a beautiful thing despite the fact it represents not only an awful time in my life but a very twisted individual. I've thought about other things to do with it--pawn it, send it to postsecret (might be too heavy for a postcard though), or maybe give it to goodwill. None of these feel "right," but at the same time I don't know what is the right or wrong thing to do.
By keeping it, it's similar to holding onto a pair of skinny jeans. Those skinny jeans torture and taunt us. They remind us of how we once were, things we once did to wear them, to belong in them. In the end, it's just a purposeless piece of fabric sitting in our closet. But at the same time, it's hard to let go of something with such a powerful meaning.
Note--*Hopefully, in the next week or two, I'll take a photo, post it here, and be able to elaborate further into how/what I'm feeling. If anyone has been in a similar situations or have words of insight/advice for me, I welcome them.