Precious Memories

There's an old saying: "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most."  I understand.

My manner of coping with my abuser is to forget.  I say 'is' instead of 'was' because I still use this forgetting to protect myself today.  The horrible part about forgetting is that you can't pick and choose what memories are stored; the brain is not at all selctive.  So, now, it's like I was born again approximately 20 years ago, memories of even the happier times of my life forgotten.  I miss my life. I know there were happy times - sometimes, as glimpses occasionally break through. Like now, I am remember a little lamb on my grandfather's farm and the feel of the calf's curly hide, and gloved hands holding out a bat with outstretched wings to me, so that I could feel the velvety softness of its wing. And I remeber the story I told in my first blog of my ex-husband throwing my little dog's toy into the river or chasing me all over our three story house cursing me and throwing things because I had purchased something for our soon-to-be-born daughter with a credit card instead of not getting it.
It is so frustrating.  My mother will talk about people that we knew in the past.  She'll say, "You know "Soandso. You went to grade school with her." And I'll overreact because it terrifies me that I cannot remember.  The fear builds inside me.  Where is my past? Who was I?
I'm thankful for pictures because I have a tangible proof of my children. When I look at their photos though, it's often like I am looking at some other person's children. Very nice, I say, as I smile politely.
And I think of my biggerst faux paux.  My children have a pony, and it's boarded on a farm not too far from here.  The couple in charge of the barn is really nice, and I spoke many times with them over the years. It wasn't until just recently that I realized that the wife had gone to school with me: grade school, middle school, and high school; we had been close friends, played together, went home together, shared secrets.  And I didn't know her.  For years.
I would love to remember more of my childhood, my teen years, college life; but to remember those, I would have to remember the others, and that is just too great a price to pay.