Bad memories are funny. We pack them away tightly in a box and we tell ourselves that we will never open them again. We put them deep down in the basement, behind used cribs and boxes full of old clothes. We put them up high in attics, behind discarded toys and other items we have no use for.
We put them away and we promise ourselves that we will never think of them again.
But we do.
Something happens that brings those bad memories to the surface. A song, a smell, a sound, a feeling. Something triggers those memories and they flood out of that box and crawl right back into our consciousness.
And there they stay. A source of constant torment and frustration. We try to put them back in their box, lock them away deeper this time, but we cannot. The more we try to rid ourselves of these memories, the stronger they become. Until our every waking moment is consumed with thoughts of them. Until we can think of nothing else but these memories. These memories we worked so hard to hide, to keep buried.
Our bad memories are what destroy us.