processing

I want to tell my story. But my story from when? From  my earliest memories? And then it would fill in as we get closer to the present, I suppose. But by the time I finish writing, I will be in a new present. All I really have is the present.

I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about my past lately. And it is fascinating because… I can’t remember it. I have been venting to my husband that I have these black holes in my memory. I have these flashes of specific moments, and they are arguably traumatic… but the details. When I try to look at them more closely… they vanish. They don’t exist in my memory. So my brain fills something in. Something that makes sense.

I remember being on the ground with the boy towering above me. I remember expecting him to help me up.

I remember instead, he leaned over and dangled spit over my face as a joke.

The spit dripped onto my face.

The phrase that has been repeated in my head for years: “he pushed me down and spit on me.”

He pushed me down and spat on me.

But when I try to look back at the memory, I see it from above. I see the 15-year-old girl on the ground, the younger 6-foot-tall boy standing above her. He loves her, but little boys tease those they love. And it’s hard to know when the teasing has gone too far without guidance.

He didn’t mean to be a monster. Or maybe not at first. Maybe if you tell yourself that you’re a monster enough times, it starts to become true. Maybe if others tell you you’re a monster enough times, it starts to feel true. You are what you eat. You are who you say you are.

You are who you say you are.

I could look at what happened and say “I am damaged because I was abused.”

Or I can look at what happened and say,

I didn’t like what he did to me then, but I am a whole beautiful person now, so I will remember what I need to, as a lesson to not accept that level of disrespect from a partner again.

That doesn’t mean I will leave a partner if they do something that upsets me.

That means the first time something bothers me; it is my responsibility as a partner to communicate about my feelings if I want them acknowledged. Sometimes people communicate their feelings by crying or giving the silent treatment. Using words is a lot easier though, in my experience, even when you know someone really well.

Well not easier psychologically. Perhaps it just expedites the process.

Though perhaps working through feelings together doesn’t have to be painful.

Perhaps working through feelings can be a fun exploratory process.

Perhaps it could even be a game.

A game like Tiny Robot Love Doctors?