I finally opened the suitcase from being in the hospital. It was just one of those things I had not gotten too. Even with the squad staying here or sister visiting I never removed its contents. Things I was happy to see:
That good oil for my hair. Wow where were you?
The nice paddle brush.
The nice yoga pants that needed washing.
Things that brought back PTSD. :
The wexner medical center blankets that were gifts bc what they had in the room wasn't warm enough
Pink house coat. That I wore everyday bc it was cold and they tried to keep me naked.
All the hair in the comb my sister had to forge out when my hair was matted against my head for not being combed in days
The confiscated items we will just refer to here as reparations
I don't know why the suitcase was so emotional for me. It was like a physical metaphor of being more work to do. Moving on. And at the same time looking at my immediate past.
Well. It's almost empty. I'm still moving forward. My hair had the best brush out in two months.
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