Flashbacks, moi?

Just this morning I'd forgotten I'd told my wife I'd drop her off at our daughter's before going to work. This meant I was going to be fifteen minutes late for an appointment I'd arranged. No particular problem as my work schedule is fairly relaxed but I could feel a definite twinge of anxiety. I've learnt how to manage this over the last few years. Stay in the room, touch something, notice something maybe.

It stems from one lunchtime break at St Joseph's, the day I had to shut out a trauma. I had moved from the toilet block next to the gymnasium and was desperately trying to focus on whatever notices were pinned on the noticeboard there, without succeeding. The recently installed 'bleeper' had gone off, announcing the resumption of afternoon lessons. I knew my classmates would be lining up and I had to join them. I also knew that if I didn't do something immediately to keep myself calm, they'd spot my panic. I knew there would be the question, "Where have you been?" I'd have to think of something but more importantly, I must not be late. I mustn't. I have a feeling it was __'s class too. I think he came swanning past us as we queued to get into the middle of 'E block'.

Trauma is annoying, isn't it? Unnecessary trauma even more so. It's a common thing for car crash survivors not to recall the 'during impact' moment, as adrenaline apparently stops the 'recording' process so people only remember before and after. So I think my brain must have blanked out entire chunks of that particular year. I certainly have little snippets and with some help, I've recently had a few more things return.  Before that, all I had were odd little bits of  random memory, like someone coming into the toilet block screaming and ranting about smoking (I was twelve and hated the smell of smoke, though I took it up later, probably out of rebellion). Other kids being ordered out except for two or maybe three of us, Someone possibly being told to guard the door. Being made to wait and face the wall. The toilet cubicle to the left hand side. More recently, things I'd not recalled for about 45 years returned- a light blue short sleeved shirt comes to mind. Consulate and More cigarettes. I had totally forgotten those! It shows what's in there.  Those medicine balls in the gym and the relay  team games we did for PE.

I've worked out that all this relates to my 2nd year there because I could remember my 1st, 3rd and 4th year class teachers but had to ask a friend to remind me about the 2nd year. There were memories from 1st, 3rd and 4th years too but it occurred to me that 2nd year memories were strangely absent. Why was that?  He showed me a class photo with the form tutor I spoke about in the last blog surrounded by his class, me at the back giving my best 'smile everyone' fixed grin. I also reckon the being late thing happened in early autumn as only last year, I was enjoying a beautiful sunny, early autumn day. I was admiring a gorgeous horse chestnut and 'Boom!', a full on panic attack as soon as I got a waft of that autumn smell, the same smell we had in the playground near the gym, where that lovely big tree watched as I shook. 

My first experience of a flashback shocked me. It was when we all knew my Dad was dying. I knew what was coming since I'd witnessed my wife's father die of the same cancer.  I was at home and went to bed where suddenly I was reliving an incident that had happened in childhood. I was probably eight or nine when we heard news a lady in our area had committed suicide.  I hadn't heard that word before.  Shortly afterwards, my Dad, known for stomping off in a rage sometimes but always coming home, he disappeared off before bedtime and hadn't returned before I went to sleep. The next morning was school as usual and I didn't know he was safely home til I saw him that evening, same old cheery Dad as though nothing had happened. Well a flashback to that and I was reduced to a furiously angry child again but totally in shock as well that this memory had leapt out on me like that!  I couldn't explain what had just happened to my wife because I didn't understand it. How could my mind have kept that hidden all these years?  All of a sudden I became aware that I wasn't who I thought I was and more importantly, if my clever-clogs brain could conceal that for so long... what else was hiding itself in there?

Quite a lot it seems. In the last few years, I've become aware of such things as the body storing memories the brain has forgotten/blanked ( if you don't believe the experts, I can assure you the red patch from an eye injury my daughter suffered when she was tiny reappears if she's upset and trust me, you don't want to upset her), Slowly but surely, as I piece the jigsaw of bits of memory together, more pieces appear one way or another. 

Remember, I have spent so many years trying to paint my ideal life  so my instinct is to avoid creating a narrative of abuse. And I'm certainly not interested in telling lies because a) it's WRONG and b) I learnt early on, lying helps nobody, least of all yourself.   But the more I let go and allow this process to happen, the more the pieces are showing a picture I really don't want to see. And there's simply no getting away from it; I wish I could.  It all points to one thing and one person. Childhood sexual abuse by __.

As I type, it also occurs to me that my final (5th) year there is also a bit of a hazy mess of angst as far as memories go, but I trust more will return now that process seems to have begun.  One thing I will definitely savour forever though is my final glorious day (well I don't think we got as far as 9.30 a.m) at St Joseph's and a deliciously satisfying exit.