"One by one they fall, it always breaks me down...*"

Well, just when you think you might be starting to get a grip on things, it rains !#$% axle grease...
Wednesday night as Chris and I were driving back home from rehearsal something happened. Something broke, and I think it was me. I'm not sure exactly what triggered it. I was very tired, I'd had a couple of drinks, and the motion and sound of the car on the road, combined with the effect of the world spinning past my window has always inspired me or made me contemplative.
I started thinking about the rant I wanted to write the next day. I wanted to talk about how my childhood wasn't all bad, and so I started thinking back, trying to remember the good times. As I said yesterday, the problem with this new clarity is that it is that unusual "Sam-brand" clarity, that comes with smells, sounds, feelings - total recall, and the fact that the few good things that I could remember were surrounded by so much pain and misery that I was almost instantly crippled, first by recall, then by hysterical tears. I found that every good memory I could muster was either preceded or followed by (or entirely intertwined with) some bad connection - for example, the memory of my almost surreally wonderful fifth birthday was followed by the thought of every other thing that happened that year - and it was a very bad year, and yet still nothing compared to the horrors of my sixth year (there are a few funny stories from that year, but looking at them realistically, they were all centered around shocking cases of neglect, which I suppose in comparison to brutal mental and emotional abuse DOES seem pretty funny. Jesus Christ.) - and so it goes. Once I'd started down this grim memory lane, I couldn't stop. My mind dragged me through one horror after another, and instead of it being just a story memory, I found myself THERE again, remembering every sensation, smell, sound, and emotion. I tried to tell Chris how it felt to have this knowledge, this inescapable experience as an entire childhood (not just one or two or even ten - or even one hundred isolated events). And worse, how it feels to have seen your siblings, almost all younger than you, go through the same things.
I found that once I'd run out of tears and started dry-heaving, I first resorted to a sort of catatonic stupor, and then when my brain began to wake up, it immediately turned to its' oldest comfort - business. I began to think of a million things at once (fortunately - or un- my standard mode), a sketch I wanted to write, another I wanted to re-write, jewelry commissions I needed to do, etc. Of course one track of my million-track mind was also watching me do this, completely aware of my distraction technique, as well as all the other tracks - including the things I was trying so hard not to think about. Yes, I did think "Wow. I've got a pretty amazing brain..." but I also thought "Wow. This is scary..." And then I just went on to cope until I fell asleep. Things have been different since then. I feel like a human soap bubble. I feel like memory-wolves are stalking me. I feel totally lost and as if I am made up of nothing but pain. I can't sleep normally - I have to be in strange places, like the foot of the bed, the floor, or the couch, and I can't be under the covers. This is definitely an "easy flight" reaction - looking for someplace where I can feel safe, or escape easily. I feel tender all over, and I DEFINITELY don't want to be touched. Poor Chris.
And that's where it stands. I was finally able to talk about it in the light of day when I opened up in an e-mail to a close girlfriend (which, ironically enough, she never recieved) but I saved one draft of it, and she said it was ok to re-post some of it here.
None of you may care - and that's ok. I really can't blame you. But it helps me if I can spell/think it out. Something about the 'in-black-and-white' factor and the 'saying it out loud' factor makes it more real.
Here is the pertinent excerpt from my e to Andi.

"I've started to have total recall of my past, and it is kicking my ass. As much as I've always known what happened, I still didn't really remember it... Or I should say, I remembered it like a story that happened to someone else. All those years are finally starting to hit me like: "Shit. This all happened to ME." And it's !#$%ing me up very badly. I've realized a lot of pretty brutal things lately, past, present and future, and I'm truly stunned at how badly prepared I am to deal with all of it. I really get the feeling that I shouldn't be talking about it, if only because that makes me think about it even more, and I've also realized that it's something that can never be repaired. The part that can be repaired (hopefully) however, I think requires my talking about it, so I hope you will all bear with me. It's not the past that I need to talk about, but the overall fact that the only good memories I have for the first, say, 15-17 years of my life or so are (mostly) of hiding successfully, or of the few rare moments of charitable reprieve from the horrors. The times I've always thought of as the 'ok' times, are really just bridges where my memory was blank. I told Chris in the midst of a really bad breakdown last night that every moment of my childhood that I looked back on was like a flash from a bad horror movie. Even the "good" ones turned out, in the light of my adult, aware perspective on the bigger picture, to be sadder than any sane person could bear. Good thing I'm not sane, huh? *ha ha* :[
that's the problem, ultimately. I've realized that no sane person could take even SOME of the things I've experienced and live decently, much less ALL of it, and that the only reason I have is because I am just so !#$%ing strong. The problem is, I'm running out of strength. I've been sapped and sapped and sapped, and now I am finding that nothing can renew my strength fast enough. What's kept me from being another raving baglady or serious junkie has been my sheer force of will, and it's fading. I can feel it and see it everyday. I want to say that my love for my friends and their love for me is enough, but it isn't. Please don't take that the wrong way Andi, but I think if you really think about it, you can understand what I'm saying. Maybe if there were more connection, more time, more sharing, it would make a difference, but maybe it wouldn't. I don't know - and I certainly don't blame anyone but myself for any of that. I am responsible for the renewal of my spirit, and for how much love and goodness I soak up. I just didn't realize until very recently that I was running on patch-jobs and temporary charges. I think it's just that the horrible, terrible weight of the past has finally caught up with me.
The catch 22 situation with my health and my job is a huge factor too. I think my deep injuries have contributed seriously to my physical health problems, and that my health problems have contributed seriously to my inability to re-charge. Same goes with my job. Now I'm stressing over the fact that if I stay, I'll be sick and caged and miserable, and if I leave, I'll be broke and a burden and miserable.
There are no short, easy answers. I've had the best therapy; no one that I have ever known has worked harder and longer to defeat this kind of thing than I have. I've tried all the things that Buffy* (for example) might suggest, and the pure, simple fact of the matter is that there is more there than anyone, even my badass self, can handle.
I do know now that the reason I stay so busy, I work so hard, I create so prolifically, I burn midnight oil and two-ended candles like nobody's business (not to mention drink, smoke, flirt, etc.) is because it is all a distraction from this simple, brutal - and inescapable truth. The hard thing there is that my ability to distract myself from it (and indeed, my desire to do so, just because of the whole addiction/denial/putting-off-the-inevitable factor) is fading fast. I just don't know what I'm going to do Andi."

I'm really sorry that I can't be more hopeful right now, y'all. Believe me, I want to. And obviously, I haven't given up yet. I promise, you'll know beyond a shadow of a doubt when I have. I think my job right now is to just keep from exploding or breaking down, and try to figure out how I can re-charge my batteries. I know I can handle this, I have for 37 years already. But if I'm going to make it for another 37, I have to figure out how to renew my strength. If I can't, and soon, then it'll be all over but the crying - and anyone who might have the gall for saying I'm selfish to even say such a thing, needs to take a short stroll through my memories and then, before they apologize, they need to commend me on how I've even made it this long. 'Fact of the matter is, I've actually gotten to a place that I've never been to before, and that's a place where I just don't care. Nothing seems to be enough to give me hope right now, nothing seems to be able to shore up my will - not even the desire to keep those hateful, irresponsible, insane, selfish bastards who did this to me - to us - in the first place from WINNING. That's a very new place for me.
I've asked you all not to give up on me before, but now I have to say that if you do, I can't blame you. If you don't, I will be grateful, because I've discovered that I need more love than I ever thought I did; but ultimately, it may not make any difference, and I am more sorry about that than anyone.

MUCH everything,
-s

*from my favorite song by The Screaming Trees
**my very wise, level-headed sister-friend who is also a counselor.