I haven't used it for decades, having loaned it to my mother (who was a trained shorthand typist) (not that she ever trained me to touch-type). However, disposing of it is still something of a wrench, as it opened up my world.
I always wanted to write, and did indeed write, but my problem was that my handwriting was so bad that often no-one could read what I'd written (including, at times, me). I therefore saved up money from my weekend job (as a Bingo caller) and bought myself a typewriter; my parents may have chipped in, too.
Being able to write such that people could read what I'd written opened up a new world for me. I was able to type correspondence, stories, rules for games and cards for games, and to put together a monthly postal games zine (Sauce of the Nile). I would spend evenings clattering away on it upstairs in my bedroom, rather than watching TV. It really changed my life.
Nowadays, of course, I type on a keyboard that doesn't require a great deal of force, and which comes with a backspace key that word-processing software causes to delete what's backspaced-over. It's a lot easier and quieter than my old Brother portable. I really don't need to keep the old machine any more.
Even so, as with many old things, it's not the object itself that's important so much as what it represents. I shall miss it.