Twenty-Something Renaissance This is me growing into myself.

I was going through old emails and listening to Drizzy's latest offering.

You know where this is going, right?
 
Suddenly the tea in my cup was not enough to keep me calm. The emotions were overwhelming and I could feel the tears. I questioned if I could really keep doing this to myself. Maybe it would be better to scrap the project.

Several times a week I sit in my living room with a mug of herbal tea (or something a bit darker and much stronger) reading old blogs and poems. Sometimes it's easy. A folder for the poems and blogs that will make it into the book. A folder for the pieces that read more like the high school me. A folder for the writing that I don't even want to claim, but can't bring myself to delete.

But when it's time to edit, and I have to go back to the place that inspired the work, something happens and I get extremely close to becoming undone. Being able to read and analyze the details of your past relationships is a cliched gift and curse. Some days I feel extremely played. Others, I want another chance to fix us. The worst moments are the ones where I get so sad or pissed off about something that I start to connect old flings and current situations in a ways that are far from healthy.

Going through my old writings, I've been able to see my dating patterns and habits and for the most part I've learned a lot. I love witnessing my growth. I've grown so much since days where every poem was about Peanut and since my first blog post. Hell, I've grown since January when I found out that my – whatever he was – was starting a family elsewhere. But part of seeing that growth causes me to relive the pain and fear sneaks in. I don't regret what happened. But I don't need that ish with the next. And at some point I'm coaching myself to take the lessons and leave the baggage.

But is it possible to learn without carrying? I'm not sure that I can fully separate the two.

For now I limit my time with certain portions of the book. I avoid making certain calls or sending texts after I've spent hours living in the past. I hit up one of the homies to bring me back to my happy and healthy present. I've realized that in order not to become completely undone, in order not to completely spazz out, and in order not to rebuild all of the walls I've been actively destroying, I can't let my book consume me.

That bothers me.

I'd like to complete this project in a timely manner.

I'd like to be able to live in all of my feelings, that's where my best writing comes from.

I'm working on a solution.

I'm open to suggestions.