Letter number 5: Boxes

Dear Alexandra,

I’m a sentimental soul. I have boxes of mementoes from past relationships, I don’t think I ever told you that. I think you’d have found it weird and probably got jealous. I couldn’t really say why I keep them to be honest, I never look in them, but I guess they are little pieces of evidence of times when I was loved. That sounds deeply pathetic doesn’t it? Maybe I should get rid of them as a form of therapy.

Interestingly on reflection I have two considerable collections from my first two relationships — both when I was very young and still a student. Those kind of relationships that would never likely turn serious, both still living with parents, negotiating the inevitable separation in distance terms driven by university, and realising that of course the odds these days of you meeting a life partner in the limited confines of your educational establishment of choice are incredibly small.

Oddly there’s no box of mementoes from my longest to date relationship I don’t think — which seems deeply remiss. We bought a house together, and whilst not much beyond exchanging birthday greetings each year and liking the occasional post on social media to each other, we are still friends.

You’ve got a box now — there’s not that much stuff in it in truth. I took down the pictures that you had printed for me from the fridge. Not in a fit of rage, it just made me sad to see them. So they’re in the box, I didn’t want to throw them away I just didn’t want to see them every day. The picture of us on the wall at the festival of colour is in the cupboard too, and the sound wave print of one of ‘our songs’ you had made for me.

The rest comprises of cards you gave me, I saved all of them. The envelopes with love notes you gave to me to open in different scenarios. The little card tokens for different things you gave me in a handmade advent calendar — I really should have ‘cashed’ some more of those in! The odd trinket, the ring you gave me early in our relationship — I always wore it, it feels weird not having it on, but it was making me feel sad. I was sad to box up the peg figures you had commissioned of me, you and the birds too.

I’ve not taken any pleasure at all in de-Alexandraing my house — but it was a necessary step to avoid unnecessary reminders. But then I still wear the many pairs of Star Wars socks you bought me. The first set you bought me one Christmas were when you hated Star Wars, I got you to watch The Mandalorian and you fell in love with Baby Yoda and subsequently became immersed in everything Star Wars. You bought me some more Star Wars socks after that.

I don’t think I’ll need to get rid of those, although I do think of you each time one of those pairs are the socks that happen to land in my hand of a morning. Similarly I don’t seem to have the same aversion to the clothes you’ve bought for me over the years. I do need to have a wardrobe declutter but I don’t seem to have the same emotional reaction to those — even though you do come to mind whenever I see or wear them.

I’ve kept the mug you had our friend paint for me with my assorted pet birds on it. It’s still living on the mantelpiece, although currently it’s hidden by a condolence card from the vet after they had to put Frankie to sleep, the first significant ripple that started a little over a week of absolute turmoil in my life. I’m sure over time I’ll find other reminders, maybe over that time they won’t sting so much.

I also found a few bits and pieces that I missed when gathering up the surprisingly large amount of stuff of yours that was in my house. It made me sad to gather all that stuff up — to be honest I can’t remember much of doing it, I’d had no sleep and was an emotional wreck. I’m not sure what to do about it really — it’s only a board game, a pair of boots and something else which escapes me. I doubt you’d miss them, but I suppose I should find a way to get them back to you.

Metaphorically I suppose the act is reflective of reality — an archiving, a closing of a door but not locking it, not quite ready to let go. What that says about the ye olde boxes I have I’m not sure — both those relationships ending in particular hit me hard too. The longer one was a more mature and mutual decision, maybe that’s where there’s no box.

Maybe I should get rid of the old boxes though, I’m not sure why I’ve kept them. Just a sentimental soul, I guess. I’ve managed to get some therapy both through the NHS and also from my work, maybe I’ll talk to a therapist about whether it’s a healthy thing to do or not mentally speaking, certainly poring over the contents wouldn’t be I don’t think, but just having them there. It can’t be good, can it?

Memories are unavoidable as they’re ingrained in our brains — strangely whilst I sometimes feel misty eyed and sad when certain memories come up on the ‘on this day’ feature on Facebook, I can also smile and remember the good times too. It would be easy to just be embittered and regret everything, I definitely don’t.

My phone has a ‘featured photos’ section and obviously you crop up quite a bit on those — I know there’s an option to suppress certain people or events, I’ve not felt compelled to do that. Indeed, Facebook seemed to be clever enough to offer to hold back on things relating to you after we changed our relationship status. Clever really.

I didn’t click that option, I wanted to be able to still feel connected, to know you were okay. You obviously struggled with that as you deactivated your Facebook account so kind of made the decision for both of us. Hopefully you’ll feel that you’re able to reactivate in time — not just for my benefit, for yours, to reconnect with a world that you’ve actually met, hugged and talked to.

I know I sound like a broken record on this and you’d get angry that I keep bringing up the online friends thing, but it does really worry me that that’s the only avenue you leave open for yourself. I know that’s not strictly true, and of course I have an inherent bias against them. But yeah, that’s probably a bit of a circular and pointless discussion point for us!

I hope you’re doing okay. So far I’ve managed to steer clear of your Twitter feed which I think is the right thing. I did get a notification when you posted a story on Instagram but it was a cute possum picture. I’m trying hard not to go down the stalker route — but it’s hard for me not knowing how you are. But I feel like it’s the right thing to do to try to keep my distance, similarly I’ve not messaged your Mum to see how you are. I don’t want to put her in an awkward position.

I love you, Bert