Pressing Delete

Pressing delete is hard.  Sometimes I heisted when I press delete. 

A memory is being delete, a face is being removed, Its sometimes the only documented poof I have of someone. Its an image or thought that had came from a moment in time when I thought it was important to document it. 

But sometimes pressing delete is the best things to do. I’m looking at a picture of “her”, It’s a picture of me at grad, I have it printed, because I wanted to keep at least one photo of her, seeing as she took the rest when she left my family. But I’m at the point that I want to delete it. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to remember, I don’t want to look. I remember her face, her eyes, the way she looked at me, her lips, skin, hair. I remember her hands. 

I remember things I wish I never even remembered.  I wish my brain could have deleted those moments and I could just be blissfully ignorant to what happened.

Pressing delete is one of the hardest things It seems online. 

Other people offer to do it for me, but it makes me panic, and I get really anxious and attached. I feel like If I delete her picture, than what happened to me will fade and be nothing. I feel like If I deleted that picture, things that happened to me would stay, but I no longer would have a face or a name. 

Pressing delete feels me up with anxieties. My tummy twists up like a soggy dish rag that’s being ringed out to dry.  My brain jumps from fear to sadness to angry while this feeling goes on, and confusion. I can’t even do it. I’ve tried, I’ve put my finger above the key and I’ve been ready to press but I can’t do it.

The worst part is me hesitating over delete her picture is I feel shame, and embarrassment. I feel embarrassed. To still think about what she did to me, I fill up with angry, I fill up with fear, I’m still scare of her, I look when I go into bathrooms and when I’m out by myself I’m on edge, I’m in a provide and in a house she’s never been too, and I’m still on edge. I’m ready to jump. 

I want to scream, I want to hit things. I want to destroy everything she’s touched. But that includes me. And then I think about it, I don’t want to destroy me. But it’s a conflicting feeling, maybe if I did, everything wouldn't upset me anymore. Things would hurt me, memories wouldn't come back and haunt me. 

 I want to print off her picture and burn it. I want to burn her picture and scream at the top of my lung. I want to see no picture left when it’s done being set on fire, and the only thing that is left is coals.

….

People sometimes take the delete button for granted and I think some people who have never been through anything rough have problems understanding. Its just a ‘simple’ picture. Its just a picture of someone, delete it and move on. 

But its not a picture.

Its not a picture of an ex.

It’s a picture of someone who was supposed to protect me.