Believe yourself even if you can’t remember

A few days ago, I was having dinner with old friends of mine. We all studied together and have been friends for decades, except for one with whom I lost touch for a while, but reconnected later.

While we were discussing a survivor book published recently in France, I realized she was not around when I disclosed my traumatic past some twenty years ago. She did not know. When she understood, she asked a few questions : When did it start ? Why did it stop ? Did your mother know ?

I gave her honest answers : I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s complicated.

There is a world behind each of these sentences. But the truth is: I can’t remember most of it. I’m not even talking about traumatic events, I can’t remember most of my childhood. Not in the usual, conventional sense at least.

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Am I crazy ?

I have wondered a few times in my life if I was crazy. Looking back, it’s surprising I did not ask myself this question a lot more.

I felt crazy within relationships : stakes were high, and relationships were great to project my inner drama.

And when it happened, watch out. I could not understand my behavior, my emotions, my thoughts, my choices, my desires. They were very, very far from my usual strong common sense.

Falling head over heels in love with someone I barely knew was bizarre. Getting stuck for months in a painful obsession over someone who did not care was senseless. Falling out of love from one day to the next, from lovestruck to utterly non interested, was outright frightening. So was crying after making love with the man I loved.

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