Wow Alexx! It’s impressive that you was able to pull so much out of your memory (and by sifting through those handy notebooks I assume) to trace your way back to when you had your first non-epileptic seizure. And it is gnarly what you uncovered/remembered by doing so.
I heard a saying once that I really like, which is: “we find what we need where we least want to look”. I think it’s true to some degree, the trouble is, though, when we don’t want to look at things that’s bad, we tend to lose access to them by way of our psyches protective mechanisms, which makes resolving them very hard.
I thought it was also really great that you wrote all of this out in that cryptic way where you never really said what the bad things were, but you were so clear in your cryptic writing that we can all gleam what they were. Writing it like that served to emphasise the quiet-town vibe you discussed. We have some of this quiet-towns in the bush down in Australia too. Not nice stuff at all.
Indeed. There may come a day to expose these wounds in my real-time blood-guts-sweat manner. They’re all drafted simply for me. But this is not the time, because they are not the point right now. The point is exactly what you mentioned—the cumulative effect of the layers and the damage that is wreaked by burying them, hiding them, plugging our ears and saying “watermelonwatermelonwatermelon…” I’m so glad that everything was as clear and simultaneously murky as they needed to be. 🤓
Ohhhhhh I have no doubt yall have these places. I think we all do. Hence why I have no problem wading in there with my massive floodlights and megaphone, or my hip waders, respirator, flashlight, and walkie-talkie. Because these things don’t get talked about much until two of my schoolmates have to be removed from their home by the state in high school. Until a battered spouse or kid winds up dead. Until someone like me is watching the movie screen of my buried life on a white bedroom wall and finally has the guts to talk about it. I know other people from that town who still don’t remember squat. I have my suspicions why.
Oh yes, except for the stuff that is still buried, I have very vivid memories all the way back to my crib. Esp. from before the first TBI, and whenever my journals or old writing triggers the memory button. Then it’s my old full sensory, hyper-detailed mechanism.
Tell ya what though. Drawing out that map of The Woods tickled all of my inner children. And just trying to find a photo of those flowers…cleaning off another layer of gunk always opens the floodgates for the lost beautiful memories to flood in, too. It’s a worthwhile archeology project, if for no other reason than having a cleaner, more organized house.
Totally. I find it interesting, once I get accustomed to that kind of discomfort, it's kind of like working out. I start to enjoy the sweat and the pain, knowing the gains I'm making. I swear, I'm as masochistic as I am sadistic. (Ask my students and my martial training buddies.)
I definitely think you have to be both to be a martial artist. And an athlete, for that matter. I know you know.
Yeah I totally understand. There is a degree to skateboarding that is just pure punishment. I mean, there are only so many times you can fall on the concrete before you either quit or somehow start to like it. :)
Wow Alexx! It’s impressive that you was able to pull so much out of your memory (and by sifting through those handy notebooks I assume) to trace your way back to when you had your first non-epileptic seizure. And it is gnarly what you uncovered/remembered by doing so.
I heard a saying once that I really like, which is: “we find what we need where we least want to look”. I think it’s true to some degree, the trouble is, though, when we don’t want to look at things that’s bad, we tend to lose access to them by way of our psyches protective mechanisms, which makes resolving them very hard.
I thought it was also really great that you wrote all of this out in that cryptic way where you never really said what the bad things were, but you were so clear in your cryptic writing that we can all gleam what they were. Writing it like that served to emphasise the quiet-town vibe you discussed. We have some of this quiet-towns in the bush down in Australia too. Not nice stuff at all.
Indeed. There may come a day to expose these wounds in my real-time blood-guts-sweat manner. They’re all drafted simply for me. But this is not the time, because they are not the point right now. The point is exactly what you mentioned—the cumulative effect of the layers and the damage that is wreaked by burying them, hiding them, plugging our ears and saying “watermelonwatermelonwatermelon…” I’m so glad that everything was as clear and simultaneously murky as they needed to be. 🤓
Ohhhhhh I have no doubt yall have these places. I think we all do. Hence why I have no problem wading in there with my massive floodlights and megaphone, or my hip waders, respirator, flashlight, and walkie-talkie. Because these things don’t get talked about much until two of my schoolmates have to be removed from their home by the state in high school. Until a battered spouse or kid winds up dead. Until someone like me is watching the movie screen of my buried life on a white bedroom wall and finally has the guts to talk about it. I know other people from that town who still don’t remember squat. I have my suspicions why.
Oh yes, except for the stuff that is still buried, I have very vivid memories all the way back to my crib. Esp. from before the first TBI, and whenever my journals or old writing triggers the memory button. Then it’s my old full sensory, hyper-detailed mechanism.
Tell ya what though. Drawing out that map of The Woods tickled all of my inner children. And just trying to find a photo of those flowers…cleaning off another layer of gunk always opens the floodgates for the lost beautiful memories to flood in, too. It’s a worthwhile archeology project, if for no other reason than having a cleaner, more organized house.
I like that saying. 🥰🤓🤩
You’re doing the best thing a person can do Alexx— cleaning the only house we’re in the whole time through this wild ass life.
And funnily (frustratingly) enough, the best thing we can do is also the hardest thing to do.
Totally. I find it interesting, once I get accustomed to that kind of discomfort, it's kind of like working out. I start to enjoy the sweat and the pain, knowing the gains I'm making. I swear, I'm as masochistic as I am sadistic. (Ask my students and my martial training buddies.)
I definitely think you have to be both to be a martial artist. And an athlete, for that matter. I know you know.
Yeah I totally understand. There is a degree to skateboarding that is just pure punishment. I mean, there are only so many times you can fall on the concrete before you either quit or somehow start to like it. :)
100%!!!!!! Exactly what I was thinking of. 🤪