the less effect | Cursed Merchandise

It's been a wild experience realising--and then coming to terms with-- the reality that most of my belongings were/are 'cursed merchandise'. She only touches on this idea briefly, when saying that her cursed merchandise was stuff she'd grabbed from the place her and her ex shared.

This weighed on me heavily. The salt/pepper grinder was one of the most obvious items I had that was cursed, and it breaking was the beginning of something seriously life changing for me. Like I said earlier, I was having thoughts about these possessions around me, and becoming increasingly aware of a perptual ... discomfort

So I had a good laugh when I told Jake that I broke the grinder, he ordered me a new one, and later that evening I started reading the book again. I also did a lot of thinking, as I walked through his our condo, interacting with my things. As I sat away from my room, exiling myself from the source of my discomforts. ugh. It was going to be monumental, to get rid of all this shit. Especially since I just got settled in from moving it all in to the condo.

I need to back up, here, a little bit, and explain some of the surrounding turmoil that was compounding with all of this. Due to the divorce, and, not being able to get myself a place, I moved in with my partner Jake. We talked about it a lot beforehand, and I had found myself yearning to try this living together thing with him. It just seemed like it'd work. So anyway. Obviously, none of this was reality when I sold him his amazing 754 sqft. condo in Denver. It was his new place, to start his new life, and I was just his hot realtor-turned-best-friend that sometimes came over and helped him hang up some décor. 'at the new place'.

Now, two failed marriages later and never living alone, I've amassed a lifetime of Stuff and Things that didn't have a place in our small home. He also, naturally, had a bachelor's belongings and furnishments of all the necessities. I ended up leaving with my ex, most of what I percieved as 'my' stuff.

These were things from my first marriage, from my childhood home, things I sought out and purchased to curate the spaces in the house. Things I was given from friends, clients. Things that meant a great deal to other people, that they gave to me. Things I worked for, fetched, repainted, fixed, salvaged, saved, elevated, or otherwise intentionally chose to be around me.

And I was bitter.

I was so angry about it. I felt cheated, in a way. I thought of myself as having started to design a life with this person, with the cat and the house and the car and the stuff. Stuff. Colour coordinated. Functional, but aesthetically choice. I'd been in a place where I could replace the necessities with specificity of design. And there it all was, away from me, with a person that hurt me, being enjoyed and mistreated. It was like a perpetual indicator of my failure

My failure as a person, a partner, a wife, a real estate agent, a drain cleaner, an artist, a lover, a friend, an adult. And I was mad, and I was blaming everyone else, and I was dejected about it. I'd work myself up about the value of these things, their sentimentality to me, and spiral into a 'woe is me' pit, lamenting the loss of my curated junk. It was especially bad when I'd get pictures of the cat, all among these things of mine. Or when I'd have to stop by my ex's place to pick up something that I really, actually needed. Ugh, it stung.

So I wanted it back, but I didn't have anywhere to put it. And when I was moving the rest of the small stuff, I just kinda went about it in a frenzy. "mine! mine!" And now, all that shit surrounded me in my new, safe home, with my safe partner. And those things, that stuff, that baggage, started consuming the light and the bliss of our home. It was literally stifling the energy of our space, of his condo, and leaving me apathetic every day. Where was that bliss I felt when I came over before? Where was the tranquillity I experienced when I'd wake up here, with nothing more than a bag of clothes and my makeup?

Well, Charity, it was being fucking drowned by the weight of a lifetime full of baggage.

Cursed merchandise.

Fuck me, it was eating me away. So I began, with even more frenzy than when I arrogantly grabbed shit, gathering up all my cursed merchandise and staging it to be donated. Jake was so patient, so loving, so helpful. He was fine with me taking up the whole dining room and table with piles and piles of stuff, while I went through it all, set aside to donate, set aside to donate to the art college, give back to my parents, whatever. And then he helped me load it all in my tiny car, several times, and went with me on my journey to let go of it all.

I was defining cursed merchandise very strictly, as I didn't have much of a guide and, 'stuff i grabbed [...]' was pretty damn straightforward to me. But, it was more than that. To me, it's things that were shared during that time. Things that originated during it. Given, purchased, whatever. Things that just ... existed. Anything that had some sort of existence in my reality in the past, needed to be evaluated for its encumbrances, and dealt with accordingly. For me, that was most of my belongings.

Some of these Cursed Merchandise things were pretty straightforward. Gifts I felt mid about. Things that related to when we got married. Needless stuff I bought to decorate the house. Art that was made, jewellery that was given. Knick-knacks, mementos, all that. Whatever it might be. Stuff I didn’t really want because I didn’t pick it out, but kept around me because I felt a sense of obligation to the person that got it for me.

But some of it was harder. Some of it was actually meaningful, and some of it useful.

What about that little stone tree that I got with a boyfriend over a decade ago? I bought him one, and he bought me one. We were on a date. I love that little tree. It's been on my nightstand everywhere I've gone since the day we got them. I play with it sometimes, rearranging the branches and the little stone leaves. Change its shape, the way it sits, filling out the branches until they’re wide canopies, or compressing them in, so it’s sleek and minimal.

It's cursed merchandise, by every extent of the word, but I ... genuinely enjoy it.

Am I tricking myself? Is there baggage there I am refusing to see, because I'm blinded by 'oh it's pretty, I picked it out, and it's so my vibes!'?

I don't know.

It's like I'm not ready to get rid of it, to let go, to find out. And I'm scared if I do, I won't be able to ... find another one I like? It's a lot.

There's a few things like that. Just, things I really love. Then, there's the functional things. We like to host, Jake didn't have a lot of silverware, so I brought mine.

All my silverware is cursed, by definition. So are my plates. My mugs. The toaster oven I brought over in the very beginning. The hot-pot holder with cats on it. The silly wooden mixing spoons we use every day. My goddamn stand mixer. Some glassware. My baking tray. it goes on and on.

But we use it. Every day!

How much is that grating on me? Am I ignoring it? Will I be so much happier if we just got rid of it?

We'd have to get new dishes, and another set of forks and stuff. That's money, and that's stress. But maybe without that stuff, we'd encounter the ability to fill that space with the things we truly want. Maybe?

And what about ... things I've gifted Jake? What does that do to the curse? What about things I've painted over, refinished, changed in appearance? What about ones I've changed since I moved in with Jake?

How does the façade of the item, influence me psychologically?

We took down the glass orbs on the wall sconces. They were from my first wedding. I told him them they were very cursed, and he insisted that I address them as I saw fit. I hesitated, because, I knew he liked them as decoration. We’d actually talked about which ones he preferred in the living room, and put the others in the bedroom. But he demanded. He went and took them down and said, "It's okay."

The wall feels better, now, that I don't see those things. I think he likes it, too.

He's been very considerate of things, not demanding I get rid of something if I tell him it's cursed. Asking me if I want to keep it. Asking me if I want to keep the things I gave him, that might be cursed. He really likes those. Silly little glowing things, or a sparkly blue glass orb in a pedestal. I love that thing, too. I love how much he loves it. It fits in our home.

I was so lit up and excited, after taking all these things down. Removing them from around me. Pictures, shelves, whatever, off the walls. Stuff and clutter out of drawers. I emptied out 3/4 of the little storage locker we have downstairs. Everywhere in the condo feels so open, so ... free. The whole energy of the place has changed.

It feels light again, bright. Like when I'd come over for a few nights in the beginning. Yes, it is my home, too. My things are here. They’re things I genuinely want, and they are exactly where I want them.

My desk is empty, save for my calendar and pen, a couple candles, my phone dock, and a place to put my water. It's liberating. I can think, I can move around, I'm not distracted by looking at things I don't want around me. I feel at peace, wtihin. And I look around the room, and I see the things I want to have. A couple notebooks, the cube shelf I bought for us to have some more space. Another candle, a lantern I painted for Jake, a couple watercolours I did on a whim. Some of his decor and items. And they're living so peacefully together, and nothing is cramped or stressed or strained. We have so much more space, and I have so much space mentally when I am in this place.

I’m still working through a lot of little things. I still have the cute tree on my nightstand. I still struggle with ‘but what if I need it …’. I’m still struggling with tools and functional items, that are both cursed merchandise and/or just ‘not needed’, or serving me. Sentimental things are tough. Gifts, not so much. We’ll talk about those next.

But! the effect it has had on me, and the condo (and by extension, Jake too. He got rid of a bunch of stuff too!) has been absolutely profound. I feel lighter, happier, freer. I feel … alive?