I've been tossing this question around since I made the rash decision to embark on reopening our old blog. So much so, I put in a call to Dr. C today to schedule a brain check. Haven't seen him in well over a year so it's time to have the neuroses changed and a general check up, just to make sure I've not COMPLETELY FREAKING LOST IT!
I'm really wrapped up in "what ifs" right now. What if this is too much? What if I turn into the zombie who spends every moment at the computer again? What if the kids end up living on PB&J because I'm too wrapped up in me to remember trivial things like food? What if this turns into a big blog? What if I run into some asshole like the Abnormal Psych Prof on "Tara"? What if all I can manage in the writing leading up to where the old blog began comes off looking like a caricature? What if I've identified as many for so long that I'm bored with just being plain old me (DON'T LAUGH)? What if someone reads the really triggery shit at the beginning and it totally and utterly screws them up? What if the only way to fill in the blanks of those first years requires actually ASKING Stephanie, Reese or Amelia? What if pushing to do this makes me crack all over again? What if all this shit matters to somebody and makes a difference?
I could go on. I'll spare you.
And maybe try to answer some of these for myself.
The big one is what if I have to ask them for help? It's been rolling around in my head for days and I sucked up my courage and posted a tweet about it earlier. What if I'm not whole enough?
Dancing around it I kept coming back to the quick and dirty definition of dissociation. It's self-hypnosis. All those days (weeks months) I spent sprawled across my bed fighting the noise, I was letting myself go, even if I didn't realize it at the time.
Stephanie, Reese and Amelia still have memories I don't. Stephanie has all of them. Had. Has.
I have a hard time, still, referring to them in the past tense. I know they are there, even if not separate because I see and feel them all the time. There is a reason Floppy still lives on the bed. There is a reason it took me weeks to convince myself that all the little's toys should be inherited by the grand children (okay, most of them). There is a reason certain things still intimidate me to try. Reese was the artist. She could draw. My stick figures look deformed. What if I didn't get it when she blended with me? I didn't get all the memories.
I know what Crane would say... "they are all you". and to that, Stephanie would say "fuck you."
I asked Charlie once what would happen if I split again... if life got too hard to do it on my own... if I needed to hide and let someone else deal with life for a little while?
He said, so be it. You're you no matter what.
I was not comforted.
I'm terrified of breaking again. Sometimes it's even an attractive idea. I miss Stephanie's cleaning sprees when she finally stopped pouring her anger into alcohol. She could clean AND get the kids to help without bloodshed. She could organize like no one I know and I don't seem to have inherited that ability.
Crane would say, it's all there. I just need to learn to access it.
So back to the self-hypnosis thing.
Quiet time in this house is at a premium. Quiet time when I'm awake enough to make good use of it is even harder to find. Today, I grabbed my notebook and hid in Rachel's room for a few hours. I threw myself across the bed, closed my eyes and practiced breathing until the what ifs started to drift away.
I asked myself, since Charlie was NO help at all today, what happened the night we told him? And I stayed there, totally absorbed in my mind, and waited for the answer. The best way I can describe it is that it's like looking into a pensieve. It's a mass of swirling, foggy memories. But if I can relax enough to take a look, it get clearer.
So maybe the dialogue isn't word for word... but it was there. The memory. There are others, that I wasn't precisely there for, that I can see clearly now.
Maybe asking them for help is as simple as letting myself relax enough to listen to my own brain.
And why would I want to do that?
It's time. For once and for real and for crying out loud it's about freaking time, it is time. As much as it's taking out of me, with every entry I come to peace with a little bit more of the past.
It never made sense to me that after all this, the part of my life which terrifies me most is those first couple of years getting to know The Crew. Seriously?
John made a comment about The Crew being the best friends he ever had. Mine too.
The Crew made it possible for me to survive long enough to meet Charlie. They kept me from stubbornly staying on those railroad tracks over night if I had to. They kept me alive when I was ready to quit. They made life interesting in a variety of ways. They opened up the doors to my past and shared with me the truth about something I was afraid to know. Were it not for The Crew, I may have lived my whole life believing my dad did something I know damn well he's not capable of doing.... thanks to 'professionals' assuming everything started with incest. Morons.
It's time to go back and look at that time because they've been my first and best friends my whole life... even when they weren't. It's time to go back because when we did become one, our family was still reeling from the fuckosity of C&K and no one really got their closure. My family deserved and deserves their goodbyes. It's time to go back because The Crew deserves to be thanked, remembered and recognized... never, ever forgotten.