The Thought Thief
What he stole was ideas, thoughts, passions, dreams, and memories. He at least felt as if he was stealing them. Since he could remember he had an unusual sort of amnesia. He had been to a therapist in high school who encouraged him to journal. She told him it would be cathartic. She had candles in her office and in incense that he could not name, but he would recognize it if he smelled it again. The scent seemed organic, earthy, yet unlike anything he had yet to encounter in nature. I t left him wanting more. Her office was an inviting space. IT seemed both safe and dangerous. Safe because of the way she was, but dangerous because of the job that he was there to complete – to dig out all his pains, spread them on the table, and leave them hopefully behind. The thought of such a place was haunting to him. Even when at noon the sun drifted in through the windows and filled the room with a warming light. The idea that so many people had done just what he did – laid out their troubles for this woman. She seemed too small to hold the burden of so much trauma, abuse, depression, bulimia, insecurity, failure, anxiety… Whatever others were brining to her. Sometimes he would look at her for a sign that it was too much for her to contain, that she was in danger of bubbling over. Eventually he considered her soft grey eyes, he looked at the lines starting to form on her face – not excessive for her age. Her posture was a little relaxed, but not slumped – he read it as a positive sign of a lack of tension more than a sing of being weighted down.
When he first started journaling he didn’t notice anything different. In fact, he had told her that he felt like he might be wallowing in his sorrow, feeding his anger by writing about it. Until that day, she asked him with a particular intensity, are you certain that what you want is to be completely rid of these memories and thoughts. He remembered saying those words, what he could not remember was why. She had a shelf full of beautifully bound journals of every sort. To date he had been writing in a composition pad. She invited him to touch the books with his eyes, hands, and heart, to either choose a journal or let it choose him. She talked like that – intense social worker speak. Outside of therapy he would laugh at such phrasing, but in her room, he followed her direction, he selected a book. She invited him to sit at the table with his new book, to breathe in the incense, and to consider again his intention. She admonished him that the road he was about to embark upon was a serious commitment, and intention is very important. They reviewed the breathing exercises he had been learning, then she invited him to write his name in the book, then under his name to write his intention – that this book be his book of forgetting. She then invited him to spend a few minutes filling just the first page with something he is sure that he wants to forget – something the is low risk, that doesn’t seem to be at the core of who he is, that he is ready to let go completely. She reminded him that it can feel like we are owned by our pain, but remember we own it too, and when we let it go, we are giving up something that has become a part of us. He started writing then suddenly she was telling him that it was time to stop. He looked up from writing and realized he had let go just a little bit. He couldn’t say what he had let go, but he felt much lighter. She asked if he wanted to continue using the book. He did. He imagined a future unburdened by all of the bad things from the past.
She looked at him so very seriously and told him there are rules to his Book of Forgetting
1) You must approach it with reverence.
2) approach it with the intention to put into it only what you are certain has no more value or place in your life. 3) Always do your breathing exercises and
4) set a timer. Never write in it longer than 30 minutes on a day. You can write in your other composition notebooks at other times of the day – but limit the time that you spend forgetting. It can be easy to lose yourself in the activity and get caught up in a rush of emotion and let go of too much at once.
5) Save your rambling of mundane memories of the day- to-do lists – and future plans for your composition books. This book has limited space. If you want it to work for you, then be strict with yourself about these rules.
He laughed then swallowed it when he saw her expression. She held out her hand, saying let’s keep it here for a few weeks – I don’t’ want you to be in too much or a rush. I will monitor your writing until I am sure you take it seriously. This will allow each episode of forgetting to sink in before you take on the next. She said – deciding to forget is serious business. Letting something go means it may no longer be a part of you and even pain can make up an important part of who we are. It is hard to convince someone who is in pain of this. This is not like Freudian repression – you are recognizing the thoughts and choosing to delete them from our life. He agreed. Another thing she said when you are done when the book is full you must decide if you want to keep the book or return it to me. Why would I keep it? She insisted he wait until the book is done to decide. He had chosen an average-sized book, not the smallest not the largest. He didn’t want to run out of space when he needed it more. He would wonder in later years if he should have chosen a smaller tome. If he had been in less of a rush to was the past away would he still feel so empty today?
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