Thinking of Boxes

Thinking of Boxes

I open my eyes to see the early morning sunrise, shining through my bedroom window. Another day has come with the sun transforming the darkness of night into a new day of possibilities. That is what most people wake up to, but some people like me are stuck within what seems to be an eternal cage of darkness yearning for a small token of momentary light. A moment that could help lead me out of this bound curse I feel within myself. I turn to face the darkness of my bedroom wall, free of the light which peaks through my window. To me, darkness represents shrouded shadows of a past I miss and am committed to remembering. I remember the morning breakfast, a combination of cereal covered in cold milk and warm boiled eggs with a dash of salt. I remember the warmth of the hugs and the back rubs which were painful but released every knot in my back. I remember the smell of coffee as it brewed constantly throughout the day, tied to the smell that was flawlessly authentic to you in every way. Most of all I remember the emotions of love and happiness which at the time seemed eternal. As I sat and enjoyed the present as it was, I was ignorant of the future that would come and how it would change not just myself but the world I existed within.

Days that followed the funeral were dull and lifeless as the emptiness of death shrouded me in a veil of darkness. I became secluded within my own thoughts empty from the looks of it but battling an internal monster constructed of pain and suffering within my own mind. You see I don’t deal with my emotions head-on, I never understood how people could. You see, my mind is like a box wrapped in brown paper. One that is plain void of colour or life, something which is constructed from the result of death. Like a tree falling to later become a box, my mind uses fallen memories dying within my subconscious to build mine. Here is where I store my emotions, my pain, my leftover memories to fade. I say a box wrapped in brown paper because it is the perfect analogy, something that is innocent and empty of life, something that doesn't portray threat or danger but instead mystery and possibilities. I feel like I share many of these qualities which leads me to think of whether the box isn’t so much an analogy of me but rather the opposite.

From my point of view, the cycle of a box within a box similar to a Russian doll is the only way I see what's to come. Maybe one day the boxes I have constructed within my mind can be opened and the substance combated but right now this is my only way to get through what seems like my new eternity. This is because a brown paper box is a perfect shield, something which takes up space but is innocent and empty of life, something that doesn't portray threat or danger but instead mystery and possibilities. I can live with that because the monster I keep away is one that I can't seem to face.

As my alarm clock rings my eyes open and my thoughts end. I rotate back around facing my window with the endless source of light entering my room. I continue onward and turn off my alarm to start my day. A day that continues even if I don't, because I no longer live in the present like most. I live somewhere in existence, a physical thing with purpose but empty of life like a box wrapped in brown paper. You see I was told memories are a promise you make to another, something that you protect and strive to maintain. I, unfortunately, haven't been able to do this because I use memories like a box company uses a tree, I build barriers and let my memories combat the pain and suffering from the monster inside. So as I exit my room and go about my day, I exist similar to a box wrapped in brown paper. Something that exists and that is all, with suspicion and mystery surrounded by the possibilities of it all. My story is dark but true for so many people. Just know you are not alone.