Memories are a problem, not least because there are times when I genuinely can't remember if what I'm recalling is real or not. Dreams, nightmares, imaginings; they all help to confuse my idea of reality. There are times when I'm convinced that something that has happened just a day or two before didn't actually occur, or else I end up thinking that I've somehow misconstrued/misinterpreted events. Strange how it's usually the most positive events that fall victim to this.
It also doesn't help that the bad memories have a habit of abruptly barging to the forefront of my mind, elbowing aside the present and reminding me of things I'd rather forget. The good is endlessly dilated (unless I can somehow find a way to rapidly reenforce it) while the bad encroaches in on all sides. Nobody likes remembering being abused; nobody likes to remember hour after hour of crying on a toilet seat, muffling the sobs with toilet paper whenever somebody else enters the room; nobody likes remembering the sting of digging a knife into their own flesh.
And what's worse is that I'm never allowed to keep anything good, it must always be defiled and sullied. Even the best of moments must be dragged through the metaphorical mud. Everything is skewed out of proportion and there never seems to be anything that I can do about it. My black dog is a strong boy, he knows how to keep me firmly in line and chase off those pesky positives.
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