Putting away these 90s X-Men toys has been the hardest thing for me to do since I began pummeling my psyche’s hoarding tendencies after Thanksgiving. I kept a majority of my stuff, donated some, but these… they impersonated many of the same toys I had as a kid. I still have them all. Whether they’re painted over or not, I boxed them up fairly easily, but these were harder. I’m trying to figure out why…
It’s probably because I woke up to them daily.
I had all these action figures pinned up above my bed for the better part of six years. I bought them in a lot, first the X-Men, then the Spider-Men, during a moment in time when I was really feeling low. It was probably when I first straightened out. Without alcohol to fill in the void of my life, I needed something, so I cruised craigslist looking for materialistic gluttony. The transaction was nice. More than that, having some of these toys, like Nightcrawler, fulfilled my inner child’s desires.
Putting them away might be like saying “goodbye” forever.
I never say goodbye because of how fatalistic it seems, but I have to remember that I will return to these toys. They’re just boxed up so I can move them into storage somewhere so that I can locate to more stable housing. Wherever and whenever that might be could be the traumatic dissonance that stalled me for so long in packing them up. It’s like putting away photos of positive childhood memories. You know you’ll see them again, but there’s just an inkling of concern that you never will, which, if exacerbated over the course of dealing with the rawest emotions and the most inner of turmoils, makes something as easy as putting things in boxes seem like the most difficult thing imaginable.
They’re all boxed up now, though.
Maybe it’s the finality of it? Before putting the toys into boxes and taped them up today, I could still give into weakness and buy more. I still can, but there will be more effort involved with storage, logistics, and overall justification for why I’m buying something new. That said, today was also the day that the 2019 Toy Fair revealed all sorts of cool new toys, most of which I have no interest in, but some promise to be updated versions of these old toys, complete with emulated packaging. In a few years, we’ll probably see updates to all of these 90s toys, but in shapes and forms that show maturity, complexity, and sophistication far beyond these occasionally underwhelmingly inarticulate toys.
Most I won’t care about.
Select few will make the temptation real. Certain characters, like my rowing machine column mascot Colossus – chosen because he represented fitness to me as a kid, might have more applicability than just wall art in my next residences. I could see buying toys like those to open and display, such as in a home gym.
Otherwise, these are now casual childhood memories.
|Sources: My personal experiences|
|Inspirations: Trying to figure out why it was so hard for me to box up these toys. I’ve been sick off-and-on the past few days/weeks/months, so that is a significant factor, but there’s a physical sickness versus a psychological sickness. I think this was closer to curing the emotional/psychological sickness, which I think I’ve addressed between going slow today and writing about why it was such an issue. I’m not comfortable with things being too “final.” So it’s just a matter of saying “until we meet again” to these possessions.|
|Related: Other Moving Zeal essays.|
|Photos: Collector recommended plastic bags to protect the plastic bubbles, and along with that, the before and after of my walls.|
|Written On: February 16th [45 minutes]|
|Last Edited: First draft; final draft.|