"it's one of my faults that I can't quell my past" -aimee mann-fourth of july

About a year and a half ago I began throwing things away. For most of my life I've had a hard time separating myself from objects. I develop sentimental attachments to things. From t-shirts to ticket stubs, letters received in the mail, notes written on small bits of paper by friends or lovers I've not seen in decades. Everything has gone into a box at some point. When the box is full it gets taped up and shoved into a closet or onto a shelf. The worst part of this habit manifests itself whenever I move into a new location. Any well intentioned friend who volunteers to help is left unwittingly carrying hundreds of pounds of history. Up and down stairs. Onto moving trucks. Into basements and attics. Some of these boxes will go ten or more years remaining unopened. Their content largely unknown even to me.
My city-issued plastic garbage can is about two and a half times larger than the traditional steel garbage can that most of us grew up with. In the last year I have filled it fifteen to twenty times. Over-flowing. What has not been deemed useless has been donated to goodwill. I've filled the back of my pickup truck six to eight times with donations. Large black garbage bags filled with t-shirts, coats, shoes and pants. Boxes filled with stereo components, kitchen appliances, books, statues and trinkets. There has been furniture. Magazine collections. Dishware. Some of these boxes had contents I'd not opened to sunlight in more than fifteen years.
The first few boxes were the most painful. Nearly each item revealed its significance to me immediately, just as I'd intended it to do. The person who gave it to me. The place I lived. The job I had. The smells of my environment. The faces of those around me. Just as I'd hoped each item would. Often their magic more potent than I had even imagined.
Separating myself from each item became a little easier each time it left my hand. Now the ritual itself has become joyful. I actually anticipate each session. This process, though it sounds massively productive already, is not yet finished. I've carried the full and literal weight of my history for nearly my entire life. There are many more boxes. There is much yet to reveal, and much yet to be loosened from my desperate grasp.