Have you ever had one of those moments where a blast from the past just jumps up and slaps you in the face? It seems to be happening a lot to me lately.

In the world of social media, sometimes it occurs to me that we are all a little TOO interconnected. I’m sure that, like me, you all have people from your past that you’d rather forget. Whether that be an ex-friend, an estranged family member, or an ex-lover, if you’re over the age of 12, you’ve got someone like that in your life. Or… out of your life, as the case may be.

It’s amazing to me that people—and certain memories—can have that kind of power of me.

I like to think of myself as a strong, independent, fierce—if sometimes slightly bitchy—person. I really try not to care much about what people think of me anymore, and I pride myself on doing what I want, when I want (within reason, of course).

But twice in the last two weeks, the past has seriously haunted me. Scratch that. More than haunted. More like jumped out of the closet with an axe, a ghost, and a possessed zombie all at the same time. Oh, and that ghost-masked thing from Scream—that’s always freaked me out.

Let me paint the picture for you.

It was 2 am. The Husband was upstairs sleeping, getting ready for the next day at work. I’m officially on summer break from my teaching job, and the night owl in me has fully taken over.  The lights are off, Hart of Dixie is playing on Netflix, and I’m relaxing.

There I am, scrolling through my Facebook feed, minding my own business, happily killing time and brain cells with pictures of puppies and Disney princesses and updates about friends’ babies and engagements and weddings.

Then, out of nowhere, a name.

A name I haven’t thought about in months—years, even. How this person suddenly found themselves part of universe again perplexes me… but that isn’t the point. My reaction to it is more worrisome.

I felt as if someone has punched me in the gut. The wind knocked out of me, lungs burning from a lack of oxygen. I wanted to vomit, to scream, to collapse on the floor. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was ridiculous. Slightly surreal.

Looking back now, I’m amazed that someone I haven’t thought about in so long could provoke such a ridiculous reaction. And I hate it. I hate that someone who means so little to me any more could stop me dead in my tracks. That someone I barely remember exists has such power over me.  It literally took me hours to recover from the shock.

Maybe I don’t like to remember who I was back then. I wasn’t a good person, or a nice person. I don’t like the person I became back then. Maybe I don’t like knowing that there are people out there who can make me into someone I don’t even recognize.

Maybe I don’t like to remember the times I spent around that person. There were good times, to be sure. Fun times. Happy times. I don’t really like to think about it. It proves just how fleeting life can be. That friendship is a fickle bitch. One minute, someone is your best friend, and in a blink, life can change. It proves how quickly I can blow up any tie to any person in my life at any given moment. And maybe I don’t like knowing that about myself. I don’t like knowing the ugliness that can be brought out in me. And so easily too—almost without even noticing it, until one day I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was anymore.

Whatever the reason, it was uncomfortable. As humans, I think that’s our number one problem. We don’t like to feel uncomfortable. It’s an unknown place. An uncontrollable feeling.

This gut-punch happened again, just minutes before I opened this post to write. Same disgusted, helpless feeling.

How do we move on from the past? How do we keep the specter of the past from looming, ready to strike at any given moment?

I don’t know the answer, but I sure wish I did.

I heard a saying once, “Some people come into your life as blessings, and others a lessons.” Maybe the point of the past popping up and slapping us in the face when we’re least expecting it, is to remind us of how far we’ve come. Of who we NEVER want to be again. Maybe it’s not something that should bring us down, but something we should be proud of. Proud that we’ve overcome the negativity, proud that we’ve become the person we WANT to be, proud that we’ve {mostly} moved on.