Into The Unknown

Memory Found

Yesterday mum told me that when I was about two years old, around the time I had been evicted from the pram by the arrival of the golden one, I fell in the river. She tells me she doesn't know how long I was in the river because she was tending to my new baby sister at the time but my father's shouting as he ran full speed toward her, past her and into the water alerted her to the wandering antics and near drowning of her first born.

So, there's that. I have no memory of this of course, I have very little memory of any of my childhood save the occasional day here and there. But oddly enough I have always felt that at some point in my life, this one or the one before, I had drowned.

Mum assures me I did no such thing of the sort. By her reckoning I was probably in the water for a mere second as my dad was very awake when it came to me, a dig I felt for sure. He wasn't even that far away from me. She remembers he was buying me ice cream, or some other goody and the next thing she knew he was all wet from digging a face down two-year-old out the water. She says I was fine.

Maybe I was fine, mum's collection of memories differs from ours somewhat as does her context of the word fine. I can't ask my dad; I mean I probably could or maybe I can't. I don't really know if he is dead or alive though I am sure my other sister, the one I've met probably a handful of times, would find some way to contact my little sister through social media if something happened. The little one found a way to contact the other one, when the middle one kicked the bucket, though neither her nor our dad came to the funeral, in case you were wondering how my family works.

The little one, who doesn't know the other one or my dad at all, thought this was outrageous as after leaving her husband and kids in the middle of the night, the middle one drove the hundred and fifty miles to dad's and spent time with him and his family on his boat along the coast.

She was there for weeks. An escape is as good as a rest, I guess. But knowing her misery and how it eventually killed her they still didn't muster the courage to show up. Personally, I was relieved they didn't come. I didn't know about the rescue story back then, and I know nothing much about my dad now, but I am less interested in his speedy rescue than how long I was in the water.

Trauma or emotional consequence is most usually caused by certain painful, bothersome or harrowing events. What is agonising for you may be only scary for someone else, and what is worrying for you may become a source of tormenting for others. I have no real reference for my trauma. Or why cats scare me, and bunnies are like a warm hug. Why I become quiet, to the point of invisible in a room filled with people I know but will happily chomp away on biscuits and read the latest most humorous fanfic on my phone in a room of people I don't. Why I am always frightened by sudden movements and loud noises, and why my whole body will react if you catch me unawares, even if I saw you coming a second before you reach me.

I mean some things are explainable, though I live in constant hope that everything will be fine and plan for fine, I am always prepared for disappointment. Nightmares of being in a war, obvious. Trust issues, again obvious. Don't want to hear even a breath or see even a fingernail of husband one. Coffee addiction, okay that is probably more to do with my anxiety than past trauma but then again anxiety is also trauma.

I think the mermaid incident is probably unrelated to my fear of drowning. I most likely was in the water for a mere second like mum said, and it is unlikely that it would have stayed with me all this time. I almost, very nearly drowned in the swimming pool when I was about fourteen, but that occasion doesn't plague my nightmares either.

And though I think my childhood was mostly survival, I don't remember it as wholly bad. Of course, it would be nice if the hard times were not so hard, but I always knew mum loved us. Even when I hated her, I knew she loved us. I also knew she was entirely alone. At only ten I knew that though my mum was the second oldest of seven, my mum was sad. Not sad like I was but sad in her soul. The whole family, cousins and in-laws alike would descend on my nan's house every second Saturday and though the games with all my older cousins were so fun, I would try to stay near my mum as my aunts and uncles were so dismissive of her.