They say our memories are all any of us really own. Minute by minute existence rushes by us and is gone in a heart beat, or less, leaving us naught but two things: anticipation of more fleeting instants and those billions of instants gone, stored - or not - in the physiological structures of our brains.
I don't know as this path (started in earnest* at the end of last summer) will really help me resolve the craziness keeping me from a good life experience. At the very least, it's making me think and preoccupying my brain so's that it can't stay preoccupied with the kind o' crap that's been making me ever more emu since as long as I can recall.
To clarify that somewhat; blah blah blah... I can get over my history one way or another.
This tack, while a helluvalot tougher that some others I've attempted, is at least far less self-destructive.
* at least what counts for such for my incredibly lazy-assed self