Transcript: Episode 119
119. Facing Memory Time
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[Short piano piece is played, lasting about 20 seconds]
[Wind, water, and geese sounds in the background]
I come to the duck pond. Which is what they call the park in the town where I first met the husband. We met here at this park and later got engaged here. And then I needed a safe place to come. And so I'm here. The park has an actual name, but everyone just calls it the duck pond because it's full of overly aggressive geese and ducks. I don't remember coming. I mean, I do, but I don't. But it was like a dream. Like running away. I was crying on the stairs first, but I can't remember that either. I mean, I can. I can’t put it together. I don't understand how it works. And today was a hard in therapy. It was so hard. I was so confident. I thought that we've worked so hard. And I was ready to look at the notebooks. I thought I could do it and I thought we were in a good place. I wore nice clothes. Not that nice clothes mean anything, but I mean I was trying to make an effort. I was cleaned and I was dressed up. I didn't wear any makeup or fix my hair, but it was brushed and pulled back. I was just trying so hard. I even wore a necklace; a pretend one that I made with my daughter.
And now I feel like a child in dress up clothes. I feel ugly and foolish. Like I can't run fast enough or get away from any of it. My vest is thrown in the backseat and the necklace is tossed aside. None of it matters. Like a costume, just trying to hide what was gone, what was really under the surface all along. And the truth is that when I tried to face it, I could not because it was too hard.
I even had a note card in my hand to remind me not to avoid things and not to waste my time with her. She doesn't accuse me of wasting my time. But I promise I want to make progress and I promise that I'm trying.
And so I really wanted to focus and I really wanted to jump into things. And I was trying to use my time well. But I think I jumped too far. I don't think I can do this. I asked right away in the beginning. I felt so brave and so confident and I was functioning and I was present. And I thought I could do it. And I asked right away for the notebooks, the old ones, the very first ones, to start at the beginning, to try and read them.
And there's a girls weekend coming up where part of what they're doing is burning things in a fire. And I thought, I thought this was my opportunity. I felt this was my opportunity to-. I thoughts this was my opportunity when I wouldn't be alone, and I would be surrounded by safe people, to be able to throw something into the fire and to let some things go. I thought it was a good goal.
But I know I don't have a lot of time. And so I need to look at the notebook and stop avoiding it if I want to participate in that. Because how do I know what to let go of if I don't even know what happened? How do I know what to let go of if I can't even remember my own life? How do I know what to let go of if I can't even hang on to me.
And so I was really proud of myself because I felt like I had a specific goal and a plan and a presence. I even, even, I even brought the bear, even though that's embarrassing. The giant teddy bear that we have. Even though it's embarrassing, because I was trying to use good grounding skills, and I was trying to use good coping skills. And I was trying to do everything the right way.
She got the notebook out. The therapists did. But then I was too scared to open it. It's the second time I tried. But I kept thinking about the fire, and I kept thinking about wanting to be able to throw some of these pages into it. I wanted to let go of some of it. I want it to just be done and over. But before I could try again, the therapist said that maybe we should talk about how to do it well and how to do it safely. She said the notebook is just information. It's just experiences that different ones have shared from Memory Time and from Now Time. She said it's not the same as getting to know them as people. And she said even if I can read the notebook, that doesn't just fix everything. And that her challenge to me is not just to know their stories, but to get to know them. She drew the square on the board again with all the squares inside it, and talked about how if one part wrote something in the notebook, then other parts reading that helps us to understand them and get to know them better, but that I can't just take what someone else wrote and throw it in the fire. But I wasn't trying to offend anyone or be destructive. I just wanted to take some easy pieces to feel like I did something to pretend that there was some progress I was making.
She handed me this chart. I don't know who drew it or when. But it had different ones, their names on it. And they were colors and shapes and lines, and I don't know what it all meant. But she asked me to pick someone from the paper and to tell her about them. And it was really hard. I immediately got anxious. I immediately got fuzzy. I immediately felt a million miles away. I felt defensive when I had expected to feel competent. I felt panicked and scared when I had expected to feel brave. All the brave and all the courage and all the confidence that I thought I had ready slipped through my fingers like sand. And then I just felt dirty. I tried to tell her what I know. I know who was the one who works. I know JohnMark like salsa. I know Cassie is loud and working with Sasha. I know they squabble all the time, Cassie and JohnMark, cuz I can hear them and I see it in the notebook.
But then she asked me to tell her about my kids. Which surprised me. She knows my kids. She's met my kids. And that felt safer. I have to admit that did feel easier to do. And so I did. I told her about my children, one of them and what they're like. She asked about a specific one and I said that he's really smart, but that he has big feelings; that he's so clever and likes to talk. And we talked about what he liked, and what he doesn't like, and who he is.
And then she said that's how you need to know the others inside. You can do it by watching and by listening and paying attention and staying present even if they're the ones out front. But you need to get to know them, not just know about them. And she talked about how real they are, and how they are parts of me, and about the things that they've been through. And she said that they saved my life. She said that if I didn't have them, if they weren't here, if they hadn't have endured what they did, I wouldn't be alive.
And she went back to the board with the boxes and talked about how it's all there because of things that happen to me when I was young. And she talked about abuse and neglect. And she talked about some of the littles and some of the others that she knows more than I do, better than I do, things I didn't know about. Except that I must know. I don't know how that works.
[Crying] And it was so hard, and it was so big, and it was so sad. And I was so overwhelmed. Because maybe none of its true. Maybe was just a bad dream. And that's what I told her. Maybe I just don't even remember. She said it would be easier if it were just a bad dream. She said that if it was real, that it's okay, she can still help. And if it's just a dream, that everything's still okay. And so she said I'm safe either way.
But I felt so far away. And I had feelings I've never held before. And there was a whole different kind of panic. And there were some things that she mentioned specifically, that I know I’ve seen in the notebook, but I just wanted to turn the page and not read them or see the pictures that were drawn. And so to hear her say it out loud, and to think that those things might be real, it's too much.
This is not a game. This is not a fun time. These are not good things. And all of a sudden, I couldn't tell what was the Memory Time and what was Now Time. [Crying] And I couldn't feel like I could get away because if her office is safe, but that's where all those things live. Like the notebook papers were just screaming at me, stories I don't want to know, stories I didn't mean to write down. And there's this grief, this unimaginable, heavy, impossible grief that just washed over me. [Crying]
And I ran. I just left. I left and I ran to the stairs where I sat and cried and cried and cried. And I left the bear there, but I can't go back and get it because I can't face it, and I don't even know how to go back next week. I don't know how I got here.
And now I'm on a picnic tables surrounded by ducks and geese and I can't even get out. They squawk and honk like the awful sounds in my head. The chatter, the incessant chatter, commenting on everything. Memory Time, Now Time, about me, for me, instead of me. And suddenly, just when I thought I was making progress, just when I thought everything was okay, just when I thought I was gonna make it through and I had hope, even for healing, even for me. All of the sudden I feel surrounded, and trapped, and stuck, and drowning. And it's too much. And it's too big. And I don't think I can do this.
[Continued crying] I know my therapist is still safe. And I know that she is good. And that her offices is a safe place. Why is it, if this is, if it is true that this is not my fault, and if it is true that they did this to me, then why is it me who has to fix it? Why is it me who has to do this work of healing? Why is it me that has to run from the one place on the planet that is safe enough for me to stay? And why, if there's finally someone who hears me, and believes me, and understands me, and maybe even cares about me, why is it then that I run? And why, if for the first time in my life I have someone who promises they won't leave me no matter how scary things will get, why is it I’m doing the leaving.
We just ran. Our time wasn't even over. And now it's a whole week and a half before I see her again, and I don't even know how I can go back here. And it's the hardest time of the year. Why is this time of the year so hard?
And I know it wasn't just me. Because I know that's called dissociating. And I know I feel when I'm starting to dissociate. I'm getting better at that and I'm learning that. But I don't know who that was. And if it's that scary, then how am I supposed to get to know them? How am I supposed to stick around just to be scared? How am I supposed to get to know someone who feels such deep things and knows such frightening things, that I can't even stay in the one place where I'm safe. How do I do that? I can’t do that.
And now I can hear the commentary of the others. Little ones who are sad that we left before they got to say goodbye. Little ones who are scared because of whatever this stirred up. Little ones who are scared because I'm saying things and knowing things. Others who don't believe I can do it. Others who think it should not be so difficult. As if they know. Do they know? Maybe they know. Why, what’s the matter with me? Why can’t I do it? I want to. I want to I want to fix it.
She said it's more than just information. I don't know how to be with them. I don't know how to get to know them. I can't even do that with outside people.
[Sniffling, crying, pause] And even, even when I tried to just pull my own pages, she said I can take them for burning if I could read them to her. She wanted to know, if I was gonna burn pages that were done, how did I know that they were done? And that I could show her by reading them to her. I've never read anything to her. There's no way I can read all those notebooks. We've been writing for two years. [Sobbing] I don’t think I can do this, and I don’t think I know how to do this. And if it's so obvious that I can't, or that part of me won’t, or that it's so hard, I don't know why she still believes in me. [Sniffles]
But I know that she does. And I know that she does because she didn't chase me down. And she didn't chase me down because she trusts me. Not just me, she trusts them. So I don't know who brought me here, or how we got here, or why she trusts them. She just sent me a message to ask her to let her know that I was safe when I was ready.
[Siren wailing; Pause]
Ugh. Do you guys hear that? That is a tornado siren. And the only thing worse than a tornado in Oklahoma is a tornado in Oklahoma with the bunch a ducks flyin’ around and a bunch a geese flyin’ around. I do not want to be in a tornado covered in goose poop.
We got to go cuz I promise the therapist we got to keep the girls safe. And I got keep us safe even of tornadoes. So I gotta go. Bye.
[Break]
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