The 500lb Locket

In the weeks that followed everything seemed like a blur. Like an organized, robotic blur. We were colonized ants following the scent laid down by our leaders, and we walked around as such. None of it made any sense, and I envied those who couldn’t remember how things were before. Remembering was the cruelest of punishments. Don’t get me wrong, when it came to punishing us,They went above and beyond with their imagination of cruelty; but even their unmatched resourcefulness for malice couldn’t rival the agony that came with remembering.

Sometimes I can still feel the weight of my phone in my hand. The first 10 seconds of my mornings – when I roll over in my bed as the light squints my eyes and I search for my phone under my pillow- are particularly morbid. It’s usually not until I roll to the side of the bed to grab my phone off the charger that reality hits me, and in that moment, I yearn for death and I mourn my past life once more.

How we went from a society where even the president could freely express himself in 180 characters or less, to this- is the biggest plot twist, that none of us saw coming; And maybe that is, in essence, how we all missed the signs. Maybe we were all so blinded by the pretend power we thought we possessed, by getting pseudo-famous people exiled by “cancel culture”, that we were blind to the truth- that we never had any real power at all. They let us run wild and exert our “rights” as we pleased, as long as we were quarterbacking our plays based off of their playbook. But when the time clock started in the next quarter and the players from both teams decided to run a play of their own, well... let’s just say that didn’t just lead to the coaches calling a time out, it led to them canceling the entire game, firing all the players, and banning the sport as a whole.

Remembering is the hardest part. Remembering is the biggest thief of any joy that could be found in this new vapid existence, and yet, I couldn’t prevent the hamster wheel of my brain from spinning relentlessly with the pain and pleasure of memories from my past. It’s hard to say what I miss most about how things use to be. I know that I miss the little things. I miss the chaos of my morning Starbucks runs. Wondering if I was going to be able to successfully get my grande nonfat iced-caramel macchiato and make it into work on time. Now, there is no worrying. There is no rush. Our society is a perfectly maintained library. Everything is in order. All is quiet, and there are zero surprises.

Some of the things I now miss aren’t even things I previously enjoyed. Large crowds and city noises had long ceased being pleasurable to me. Towards the end of things, I had entered a phase of my early 30’s where I was beginning to veer from my previous party path, and head down a more self-care and growth track. “Pregaming” for a birthday celebration at 31 was as different as night and day, from what it was at 21. Dancing and singing in the mirror while simultaneously curling my hair and “cheers-ing” tequila shots with my girlfriends to my right and left, was now replaced with me listening to the 888 frequency for abundance and positivity. I had already entered the phase of my life where I’d choose peace over chaos, and yet, I still could not find comfort or peace in my new peaceful reality.

Because whilst it is undeniably “calm” here, the eerie state of peace resembles the calmness your body feels as it braces for impact right before a collision. It’s a false state of peace. A beautiful mirage that’s as fragile as a fetus that’s been yanked too soon from its mother’s womb. The adolescence of our new reality was a delicate tango on egg shells, because we were all aware of just how quickly the empty sounds of silence could switch to shrill screams, at the very first glimpse of insurgence.

Remembering is the hardest part. But forgetting would be insulting. So, I choose to carry around my memories, not only within me, but also around me. Hanging in a heart shaped locket, low on my chest, close to my breast and my heart. I carry the weight of what feels like a 500-pound satchel, hanging from my neck. A tiny gold heart shaped locket, that holds both the kryptonite to my mental freedom, and the key to conformity: a picture of me happy in my past life, a life that I choose to never forget.