Dealing With the Holes

One of the first things I had to deal with in my current therapy is dealing with the holes in my memory. Or, really, just accepting that I’m not going to remember everything and that it’s probably for the best. I don’t want to drown in my own past as I’m moving toward a positive future now, do I?

For the most part that’s fine. I don’t remember everything. I want to write things down just to gain ownership over them, to accept that they are part of me, my past, and to realize that damn it, I was a kid and shouldn’t feel guilt over things from childhood.

Then something happens, like yesterday, and the holes come back and I’m staring in the shadows and wondering just what the hell happened.

My foot has been hurting me for sometime and I have had x-rays and such and going to physical therapy for it. Then the other foot started to hurt so I went to my doctor. Well, he was running late so the head of the practice was there and figured, why make her wait for my partner? And took me in. He wasn’t happy.

See, after two x-rays, it turns out I have a fracture in one foot and a break in the other. These have apparently been there since childhood. He asked if I had some accident when I was younger.

These are the questions that spiral me, so I had a hard time asking or answering other questions after that. With people without my past, I wonder if they’d shrug and think something happened in their rambunctious years. But with me, I wonder if my parents did something and then never took me to the doctors. That was the first thought, “What the F*ck happened?” Because I didn’t go to the doctor’s much when younger, not that I remember. There were a few ER visits, but those are a long story and I was away at camp when that adventure started.

Then I begin to think, “Well, maybe they did take me to a doctor but it was one of those free clinics,” because really, that’s what we could afford. I’ve been dealing with so many dental issues caused from these free clinics when I was younger. I have one more tooth left to fix, one that was given half a root canal then covered with a temporary and never finished. I don’t even remember the work every being done, but now I have to have it fixed.

It’s tough, and will be even tougher as I have to have surgery and be laid up for two weeks. It reminds me how physically alone I am here without a family to help out a bit. Who’ll catch me if I fall? I get tired of setting up nets myself to catch me, you know? A nice hand someday. Of course, that’s what I’m working toward, breaking down enough of the walls that I’ll be open to another’s hands one day. And, of course, accepting that I’ll never know how those bones broke.

*sigh*

Image taken from www.picturingpeace.org