Being home...

Being home full time has had more than a few challenges. Our latest debacle involved another trip to the hospital due to a concussion as a result of a seizure next to a table. Such is life right now. I begin projects often and then abandon them because I am exhausted, fighting side effects to medications, or just feeling plain defeated. So now I have decided, after all of these years, that it is time to tell my story.

The story of the life I have lead is difficult to tell, let alone get down onto paper. So below I am posting where I decided to begin this story. Maybe people will want to read it. Maybe they will not, but one thing has been clear as I have sat down daily to write. This life lead me here. To a life where I deal with seizures, nightmares, and memories that would make a normal person freeze in place. It is time I write this story because in spite of it all I have people who love me. As my spouse recently put it, "You have now spent more of your life in a safe and loving environment than in your previous life. I think it's time."

I was surprised where I began this story, but here it is for you to read and for me to heal.

Safe and Sound

Prologue

He crossed his left leg over the right and leaned toward me. His sweater looked itchy and hot to be in.  The office was warm and it made me think he may be hot. It was not him. It was me. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest and the rush of blood was in my ears. It felt as if the room was boiling hot.

“Athena?  Did you hear me?” he asked fervently.  I looked up and I thought he looked scared.

“Yes.  I heard you.  I’m sorry. I feel sick right now.  Did you ask me what caused me to remember?”  He nodded. Up until that point in time I had remembered little to nothing of my life.  Then it happened. “We were standing in hallway of our new home. My husband turned the lock of a door and it echoed through the whole house.  The next thing I knew I heard screaming and he was trying to get me to stop. It was me. I realized that I was screaming.”

I began to rock back and forth on the couch.  The doctor stood up and said he would return in a second.  He came back with another doctor. He came back with a female psychiatrist. There was talking, water, a small pill and then the rocking stopped.  They told me I needed to continue.

I breathed deep.  I smoothed the dress I was in.  I pulled on the pearls around my neck.  I shook my head. They urged me to continue.

“I thought I was seven years old and that he had found me.  He had his hands around my throat. I was losing consciousness.  Only I wasn’t really seven years old at that moment. I am 35 and I was in my very first home.  It was only a lock. Since then the memories have not stopped. They keep coming in and they do not ask permission.  Not only that , but they have REALLY BAD TIMING. Can we stop?” There was a nod in agreement between the doctors. We sat in silence as a small, mahogany clock clicked keeping time against the wall. I breathed in, turning my head to the bay of window that displayed the ivy on the hill just outside. Birds flitted in and out of the branches of the evergreens situated above the ivy.  Free. It was what I thought as I watched them They are free and now it is my turn. “What happens now that I do not have control of my emotions or my own mind any longer?” I looked at both of them for answers.

The female doctor stated, “We are not sure. But did you notice you are referring to these memories as ‘they’? These are memories and are not identified as a person.”

Angry.  I was angry.  I was good at angry.  All other emotions confused me, but I knew I was angry. “These memories are mine.  They are alive. They march in and out of my mind. They are controlling my emotions and changing my entire life.  They are a THEY!”

He looked over at me and sighed heavily. There were tears in his eyes.  I began to wonder what kind of doctor cries. As the female doctor moved toward the seat next to me, he began to speak.  “We will need to see you at least twice a week. You will meet with Dr. Norris once a week to begin medication for the depression and insomnia you are struggling with.  We will do a therapy called EMDR. Athena?,” he implored me for my attention. His hands clasped together in front of his small frame, a look of concern wrinkled his brow.  “This will be painful. This will hurt,” he stated his concern and waited for me to respond.

There was silence.  You could hear all three of us breathing.  I was staring out the bank of windows where I continued to see the birds that were free. The sun broke through the clouds, blinding me momentarily, bringing warmth to my face and causing the free birds to sing unexpectedly.  I turned to them, “I want to do this but I have a question.”

“We may not have the answer,” Dr. Norris replied.

“I know you may not but I still have to ask,” I replied turning toward her kind face that carried a look of worry.  “ Will I recognize myself when this is over? Will this change me? I have become very good at being me. I have things in place that make being me easier.  Will I recognize who I am when this is over?”

He sighed again.  He sighed a lot in the years to come. Come to think of it, so did she. It was never out of exasperation, I recall.  It was more out of a release of pain and empathy.The memories, the things I told them were painful for anyone to hear.  They were painful to remember and to say. Even years later, this is the case. “It is possible that the answer will be yes.  It is more likely that the answer will be no. You may look in the mirror one day and wonder who you are looking at. There is freedom in this, Athena.  Can you imagine being free?”

A grey bird, with a brown crown and black tipped wings landed on the window sill.  We took an account of each other. It’s tiny face turned and tilted. It suddenly took flight….free.

It truly felt as if my answer took hours to come out of me.  In truth, it took seconds. When I heard my answer I felt shocked, “We should get started.  When can I see you next?”