packing.

i promised myself that anything in this house that made me unhappy would not be brought to the new house. but there are things here that i am finding that make me think of my mother. i have photos, letters, scarves she knit for me... an entire file folder containing all the paperwork i collected over the years detailing her jail time, her weird letters, her painful self-narratives...

just how much am i willing to purge? and why do i keep holding on to these things?

in the back of my head, all the letters, the records, the photos, are things that i could someday show to her social worker, or therapist. i am saving them for future use.

but i've sworn there is no future.

so why am i keeping them?

the logical answer, i suppose, is that i still hope for her to get better. to allow me to help her. and in all honesty, it seems i still want that. otherwise, all this shit would be in the garbage.