Tortured moments. I have been living in hell these past 48 hours. I have no memories, but the feelings are suffocating and overwhelming. The dilemma is I am the only one who has had this experience in my family. There are no witnesses to untold horrors, there is no one to corroborate or validate. I am the only one. Because there are no memories, only feelings, I cannot believe in myself, either. So I have had this experience, this reality that has no basis in fact, alone. Why can’t I let it go?
So I must run again, isolate myself, stay as far away from the people I love the most in order to be safe. I do not know what I am running from, what I feel the need to protect myself from. Hell, I am 54, a grown woman, intelligent and resourceful. Yet all the progress I think I have made dissolves in these tortured moments and I am a child again, fighting for my existence.
I am fighting against a time and place that is not real to everyone else I have ever known. But for me, this is truth. To thine own self, be true? What if I can’t trust myself to know what is true? What if my reality is so contrary to what others experiences? What if I see blue when the color is red? How do I know?
There is something so frightening about accepting that everything I am does not exist. If I could do so, and accept someone else’s version of me, I think the tortured moments would stop.