April 11, 2012
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Memory is something that you take for granted until you don't have it. Like most things you take for granted, I suppose. What dumb thing to say. I mean, my life and its details have always been available for my recall in vivid colour until very recently. Pregnancy and childbirth gave all my cognitive abilities a whack... I guess advancing age is a factor... the hammer blow, almost literally, was my head injury. So much of my life doesn't seem to exist anymore, my identity feels very uncertain.
Writing this past paragraph has been depressing. I keep deleting, rewriting, pausing. Writing to me has always been like breathing...although perhaps I could write, perhaps I am censoring things far more than I used to, because a sense of "SO WHAT" hangs over most of my thoughts about myself, my experience of things. I don't really know when this happened - I know that when I went to see Amanda6 months ago I honestly spoke about my mindfulness, my fullness of life. It felt honest, anyway. Since I whacked my head I can se in hindsight that I have been slowly going downhill - but then the SO WHAT kicks in. I don't seem to embrace mindfulness when it comes to less than positive things. The more I realise that it is just ME here in my headspace (that doesn't make sense???!) the less tolerant I am of the flaws/dysfuctions and warts that once interested me. I am embarrassed by them. I can't rebutt the negative cloud that seems to be growing with positivity because it seems ridiculous - it feels like maybe I used to get th energy from what I thought other people were giving me, but I have realised it was just me all along. ACKKKKKKKKKKK I am making no sense I know. I have no idea if it will even make sense to me should I come back and read this later. I make no sense.
I feel very empty. All my energy goes into making sure I keep experiencing and exploring around me like I never have. Being a mum and justbreathing the adorationfor my little boy...this doesn't sound empty I know... I'm a riddle to myself.
This has taken so long to write. I am broken.
Comments (3)
I read or heard (memory, indeed) somewhere recently that a good writer is someone who can give definition to a feeling or thought you can't find the right words to describe yourself. I was reminded of it when I read this: "...because a sense of "SO WHAT" hangs over most of my thoughts about myself..."
That is exactly it when I try to write about my own life. I thought perhaps it was because I used to be happier--or more miserable--or more engaged. But more and more I really do think it's because I've lost the ability to feel meaningful to myself. Is that what you're talking about? I know it's hard to articulate things that are so inherently internal, but if this sounds at all like I'm getting it... Well, I just remember "meeting" you here so many years ago and thinking knowing you was a comfort. Still is.
But good lord, Sal, let's not talk about advancing age. I'm still ahead of you, remember? (heh.)
x.g.
@underused -
oh... you are perfect. "the ability to feel meaningful to myself"... perfect perfect.
Maybe it is an unfortunate long term side effect of introspection. Ha! Susie Orbach never warned me of that.
On opposite sides of the world and still weirdly in tune...
I think I will know you my whole life, Sal, even if we never meet.
x.g.