In a Flash

My oldest son has been sending me pictures from his visit to Kauai, the island where his father and I lived back when we were nineteen.  I am enjoying how so many of the places I remember from 38 years ago have not changed.  The Maniniholo Dry Cave, at Haena, where we slept after our tents and belongings were stolen, looks exactly the same now as it did in '85.  The hiking ridge that looks down on Kalalau Valley along the NaPali has not changed, either. Two photos in particular that my son sent, transported me straight back in time.  I could feel the soft muffled stillness of the dry cave, waking up long ago to sunlight scattering inward around the edges of that cave entrance. As I saw the image of that place now, the scents and sounds of that cave swept over me.  Another photo from the ridge trail overlooking the curving valleys dropping away toward the Pacific, mist hovering atop green ferns and tangled vines draping across red dirt and rock, all took me straight back to a moment sitting outside a tent in Kalalau, eating guava, misted salt scents seasoning the sweet fruit as the whole scene fed my bloodstream and soul those decades ago.  Those two photos were all I needed to travel back in time, and I was there again.  No scientific machine necessary for this trip.  Part of my mind exists there still, in that cave and valley, and a photo lets me re-experience those moments.  At times like this, I am grateful for the way my memory works.  

There are other times when I am not grateful for my memory.  Back in the '90's, when I spoke to law enforcement in the city where I was used by my stepmother in the making of child porn, I was shocked to have the detective I spoke with tell me how a significant number of children who are interviewed after they are identified in child porn material, will have no memory of those moments of horrendous sexual exploitation.  I would give almost anything to not remember the worst memories from my childhood.  Human minds sometimes successfully block those kinds of awful memories. 

Since I have been an adult, I have had startling moments of pain that have hurt in my chest, reactions I have heard defined as "triggering," the PTSD-type responses that remove me from the moment, and place me straight back into the hell of my childhood.  I have written about some of these moments where something in real time, makes me re-experience pain from the past.  Here is one example of such a moment, copied from an archived blog post:

"Sometimes, when I am driving cats to be fixed at a clinic, there will be a kitten who makes me catch my breath, and feel a sudden, deep ache. It will be a slender black kitten, about 5 months old, with big golden eyes, who looks a lot like my kitten Barney looked. Seeing such a kitten always makes me ache a bit inside, but I have learned to ignore that pain, work right through it, and focus on the big picture, which is getting a group of cats fixed, to lessen the number of stray and feral cats who suffer daily in this world. 

On one particular cat trip this past couple of years, there was one of these slender black kittens that I picked up to take with a group of cats to get fixed. That kitten caught my eye right away. Later in the day, the owner of that cat called my cell phone, to see how their kitten was recovering after surgery. I told her the kitten was doing fine. She asked me if I could tell her daughter that the kitten was fine, because her daughter was very worried about her cat. I said yes, and a tiny voice came on the phone. My brain went through a great deal of pain, as I listened to the voice of a very young child ask me if her cat was okay. Her voice was so serious and worried. I told her that her kitten was doing very well, and would be home soon. Then I thanked her for letting us fix her cat, because this was the best way to help all of the cats have better lives. When that tiny little voice said, "You're welcome," I was overwhelmed with emotion. I put the phone into my pocket, and immediately went into the clinic bathroom to be alone. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch the wall. I wanted so badly to never have been forced to kill my kitten Barney, when I was little, when my voice must have sounded like the little girl I had just talked to on the phone."

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That is an example of how I experience flashbacks.  It is not fun.  There are other moments, where I am forced to re-feel pain from my past.  Like seeing that predator sda principal responding to one of my friend's posts on social media, which immediately makes me relive how it felt to be groomed, conned, lied to, sexually re-exploited, and then blamed for all of it, by a man who is seen as decent to this day by most of the people who know him.  It hurts so much, to know what he really did, how he is a sick-ass predator who purposely damages damaged little girls with "daddy issues," and to have to see how he is viewed as decent by most people who know him.  I have to know the truth, while I also have to know how many others believe his facade.  This is emotionally some of the most painful truths I carry.  I am thankful that asshole is enough degrees in separation from me, that such painful moments are not common.

On July 7, the first episode of a show will be premiered on Prime, and thousands of people will watch it.  They will respond by saying positive things about the actors featured in that episode.  Those actors will be publicly viewed, and spoken of, all over social media.  The trailer for this first episode is already out there.  I have seen it myself a number of times, and I am actively trying to avoid seeing anything about that program.  Every time I see it, my heart hurts for the person that show is going to re-damage.  A crime was committed, and there is a girl who will have to re-experience the pain of that crime, every time she sees the trailer for that show.  The face of her perpetrator will forever hurt that girl, because she has to know what he really did, how he purposely chose to commit a sexual crime against her, how he is a predator who harmed her illegally, yet everyone else will be viewing that same man as a good person, treating him well, praising him.  Marketing him to children...

I hope she knows that she isn't completely alone as she is re-traumatized.  I know what he did.  I know how it will continue to harm her, and how often the trauma will be replayed in her mind, because that crime is part of public entertainment, and her mind won't have a chance to forget.  I know what he chose to do, how he does not care about, or even acknowledge, the pain he caused her.  How that flash of his face onscreen will reharm her soul, over and over.