We often hear that memory is a funny thing.
If you ask me, memory is far from funny when a series of inter-related experiences proved so traumatizing to a healthy young mind as to arouse an innocent child’s defense system to erase every detail of those experiences, which had felt as terrifying as would sudden bolts of lightening cast down furiously from on high, striking a stupefied young heart as if electrical shocks running through her inexperienced nervous system from head to toe were empowered to stunt the natural development of a good little girl’s emotional growth until, decades later, when by-monthly sessions of EMDR therapy (Google it), gently unwrapping my deeply sorrowful, subconscious anguish from its coma-like, solid mental block, encourage my intuitive powers to unseal the door behind which deeply shocked, personally horrific details are released, one, slowly leading to another, not necessarily in order so as not to overwhelm the conscious portion of my adult mind with spikes of yesteryear’s unprocessed and thus unhealed terrors left too raw to manage the current state of—my well ordered life without the stabilization of astute, compassionate professional help.
Thank goodness, the mysterious detail in question, today, is NOT one of those that haunt my adult mind with a gloom and doom sense of mysterious terror lurking deep within subconscious memory, today.
Today’s mysterious detail is a funny thing, because each time we discuss the discrepancy of detail arising from within the recesses of Will’s conscious memory and mine, we agree to disagree and end up laughing about who’s been right or wrong, over these past 60 years, and though I’m truly not meaning to tease, I’ve tired of writing, so the humorous nature of the missing detail to which I’ve been referencing will appear on your screen when next we meet ...
🙋🏻♀️Annie
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