Memories

Sometimes, memories can be bittersweet, reminiscent of good times past, or of places too far away. There is a certain joy to such memories, a sense of wistfulness, that in the strange logic of human feelings evokes a hope for a time like that to come.
These are memories that share events with the feelings. Events that anchor and contain the feelings, however deep or powerful.
Usually the mind simply blocks from view the bad times and lets the joy of these memories work their strange magic.

When the memories have no events to hang on; when the memory is just feeling, the memory has no containment. The memory bleeds into your life like internal bleeding: no outward wound to see and discuss with friends or loved ones. Feelings that bind the heart but do not decrease thoughts or actions. These memories are those shared by victims of emotional and physical trauma combined. Like those who endured bitter cruelty for years in wartime concentration camps.
I have searched all day for these words to describe my feelings. I'm not sure that the words are adequate, but they are the best I can muster.


These emotional flashbacks are horrible. I have no reason for them now. They come unbidden into my day. They come because of the time of year and the dates.
It is a bitter irony that I once loved Christmas and all that it stood for; and now, thanks the experience with a self-righteous, vindictive group, the joy of Christmas is a thought that makes me physically ill.

I do not lack physical energy. In fact, there is more than has been there for at least 4 years. I do not lack mental focus or thought. My mind is trained to think and analyze. It may even be simply genetic.
But when I let my mind clear of focused thoughts, my heart feels like it is torn from my chest; my eyes water and stream; my throat clenches. The sadness has no reason. In fact, there are many reasons for me to be happy and proud of my situation. But it is there, and the mental force to resist it only makes me tremble - which in turn reminds me of that time even more.
My body knotted, wrenched and tore at itself in those days. My hands shook. My eyes streamed all day. The only peace I found was in studying or sleeping, and that did not last.

The feelings make me hate what should otherwise be a better life, if not what I would call a good life. Friends surround me, believe in me, and are willing to share their lives with me. I have returned their faith and support with faith and support for them.
It has been a long two years of struggle, - And it is not done. - but a worthwhile struggle.

This morning I sang Christmas carols to myself - Fideste Adoramus in Latin. The smiles that greeted me made the day light and joyful, moment by moment.
But all of friends and smiles cannot replace the fearful memories. Just feelings that I have relived now for two years at this time.
This was the time of year that my ex started her campaign to attack me by abusing the Intervention Order process. In one month and a week, under instructions from her lawyer, she will threaten to sue me for $100,000 - expressing resentment for every moment of my illness and all that it cost.
One month later, she will threaten to sue for $20,000, and to have me charged with crimes she could not specify.
She was instructed by her attorney to make these threats only when the two of us were alone. Her attorney realized she had no case for abuse, and intended to attack me in court by calling me a liar over these threats. He hoped to persuade the judge that I was the liar, when in fact he and his client were planning and rehearsing lies to present to the court.

The concept of a lawyer as an officer of the court and must help the court seek justice is petty irony.

I cannot remember the time leading up to Christmas. I spent most of it in constant physical pain from my back, hip, and knee. I stayed away from the house as much as possible to let my ex and her family have as normal a time as possible. When I was in the house and she or her daughter were there, I stayed in my room studying, or sleeping.
I knew there was to be no Christmas for me that year.
The most recent spate of abusive arguments had made even the couch I had to sleep on something to be avoided if they were around. There was no energy to endure the barely audible jeering and disdainful looks. My leg swelled up, and part of the bottom of my foot went numb. At those times, I would ignore the pressures and just go lie on the couch to elevate my foot.

My energies in those days were still consumed with trying to learn to walk and simply heal, mentally and physically. I had no energy to join in the arguments my ex sought whenever she could; much less the games she would play later.
A bitter moment at that thought turns in my stomach - The games. - makes my mind numb: I would never have believed that a court would support such vindictive cruelty.

Philosophically, Life is full of bitter lessons. We learn to accept them and put them into perspective amongst all the other aspects of living. Thinking on perspective usually leads to seeing that the most bitter facts of life are less important amongst the many small joys. - There is a point where the perspective fails, however.
All I wanted of that time was to be able to heal from my wounds in my own home. But the Australian courts had decided long before I came to Australia that that would not be.
My ex simply knew her country better than I did.

The thought runs through my mind that perhaps writing these thoughts has helped to ease the pressures inside me. It has eased, but not erased the feelings. The gross injustice and its effects are still with me.

Paul Donley