Oy vey. Yesterday I cleaned out the back of my car and found an unopened Christmas gift. To me. Signed with ❤ Me. And I have no idea who Me is.
My memory has suffered some very big hits in the past few years. What heavy drugs (platinum chemotherapy) didn’t take, my current therapy—designed to cross the blood brain barrier—has.
At first it was beyond distressing, this wiping of my memory. I am someone who always tries to look at the bright side and if there is a bright side to cognitive challenges it might be that you view the world in a more child like way again. Everything is fresh, if you will. For an artist that can be a good thing, and I think it was maybe useful to leave some baggage behind at a time in my life when I was starting over.
Gradually many of my memories are returning, but as they went missing for so long my relationship to them is not as solid as I would like it to be. When I try to recall something often parts are missing and I’m just not certain about the details. It’s really frustrating and sometimes very sad. But It is what it is. I am alive and well and making new memories.
Back to my gift. Inside was a funny little Doll with this written on it’s chest: WHENEVER THINGS DON’T GO SO WELL, AND YOU WANT TO HIT THE WALL AND YELL, HERE’S A LITTLE DAMMIT DOLL, THAT YOU CAN’T DO WITHOUT. JUST GRASP IT FIRMLY BY THE LEGS AND FIND A PLACE TO SLAM IT. AND AS YOU WHACK THE STUFFING OUT YELL “DAMMIT! DAMMIT! DAMMIT!”
And as if that weren’t enough to make it all better, there were also two boxes of bandaids. One with big girl pants on them and the other with smiley faces and positive affirmations. Someone is looking out for me—now just help me remember how/who/where my lovely gift came from!