It was nearly ten years ago when I unknowingly adopted a habit of tacking to my mind images of the infamous walls in my life and the memory it coincided with .
I remember making eye contact with a nail in the wall, high above my fellow classmates as I recited a monologue from the meager stage across the room. I felt confident.
I remember staring at my bedroom wall as the sunshine highlighted its baby blue hues. I felt safe.
I remember studying the luxurious attire displayed on the magazine clippings tattooed to my dorm room wall. I felt motivated.
I remember wincing through tears as I glared into to the melting beige matte of the hotel wall. I felt lost.
I remember losing focus on my goals and the desire to revoke any power I allow others to have on my life.
I felt anxious. I felt inconsolable. I felt defeated.
I took to looking at my life and comparing it to that of others, welcoming unsuitable comrades have any say on my emotions, and losing myself to doubt. I feel stupid.
I will one day remember putting a pin in my habit of tacking up my memories, and I will one day remember destroying the mental barricade that plagued me with my past fears.
I feel renewed.
I feel jubilant.
I am whole.
This post is written for the Weekly Writing Challenge.
Photo by: visualpanic