It is amazing to me that I have almost NO memories that are not "anguished" in some way. In the last poem I posted I ask "when was the breaking?" and it must have been very early on. I sometimes wonder if all my psychological "issues" date back to my Father's death when I was 2 years old. Anything that is "gone" from my life (be it stuff that used to be in my neighborhood 40 years ago or stuff I might have lost last week) twists up my gut with a real visceral sense of loss.
As usual, "sucks to be me", I guess.