Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Examine the Past or Ignore the Pain?

There are days when I have to force myself to look at my past. I have to look at the memories, like picking up a very fragile item at a specialty store. Carefully turning it from side to side, trying to view it from all angles, and not drop it in the process. I can't let anything shatter. The pieces would be so sharp they would slice me into tiny bits that can't be put back together. As it is, in the tightly bound, fragile bundle the memories feel like they are in my head, they still hurt me. They hurt too much to examine too closely. I don't hold those moments close to the eyes for every intimate detail to be viewed. Instead, I look at it from all angles, holding it away from myself, as if fearful it will explode while in my hand, injuring me beyond repair.

I wonder which is less healthy, being so afraid of the past that you don't want to examine it too close, tamping those memories deep into the recesses of your mind so you never have to deal with the majority of the most painful ones, or not remembering at all? At least when I didn't remember some of this stuff, I didn't have to be afraid of where my mind chose to take me when I fall asleep without distraction. Now, all the things that I push into the darkest most cobwebey (take note, Webster. That's totally a word. Stop trying to correct my bad English) corner of my mind are pulled out when my subconscious takes over. Faces, mistakes, hurts, and.....just so much more take over my mind and hijack my dreams.

The biggest problem with remembering, and still refusing to "remember" is I have to achieve a numbness to function. That's one of those not good things. Sure, it serves a purpose. It keeps me going. I get up, shower, get dressed, drink coffee, go to work, sometimes remember that putting food in my mouth is a good thing and actually proceed to do so, sometimes react in the emotional manner that people expect from a "normal" person......like I said, I function. My lack of emotional response scares me as much as losing control of myself, like what happened last weekend. What if losing control means I hurt myself?

Since I don't have any answers to any of the questions in this blog, is this a completely useless thing to write? I'm obviously not actually dealing with any of these problems. I just continue to float from day to day, every once in a while I fall asleep and stay that way.  Every once in a while I manage to seem almost normal, even if the emotions aren't there. Sometimes my dog makes me giggle and actually mean it, because she's adorable and doesn't understand why mom is upset. Sometimes I take out one of those fragile, painful memories and look it over. I even let myself open a small crack in the dam (I have a name for it. I call it "control." It's my friend. Don't mock it, just roll with it. We all know I'm crazy anyway.) I'll cry a little, just enough to relieve a little of the stress on the storage room doors, close up the crack and move on.

One of these days, I won't be able to close up the crack. I'll drop the memory, it will shatter, and my world will fall apart. Until that day, here's hoping I can find someone to help me deal. Oh joy! I get to go to a P-sychiatrist!

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