The next day I awoke and my hip was really tight but there was no random teeth chattering, no hands on my neck, and no imaginary blows to my back. Thank God!
Whatever Karen Judge had done with me on that mattress had grounded me, somehow resolving the Post Traumatic Stress/TIME TRAVEL that I had been experiencing.
But as I got out of bed, I stretched my hip….
…And I started to shake a bit.
“BABY KEN, are you still there?”
And then WHAM!
My head quickly shook side to side!
“He is still here. DAMN, I’m not cured,” I moaned to myself, “but at least now I can function again.”
Somehow I had put the lid on Pandora’s Box, but I still had to deal with BABY KEN and the demons inside.
Now the thought that my father had actually broken my leg was still reverberating through my psyche.
WHAT THE HELL AM SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT?
And who the hell knows if that was even true?
When someone is the victim of trauma, it is like the hard disk on their internal computer is smashed. When they go to retrieve data/memories, the connections are all messed up so incomplete memories often appear or data that seems like it might be real shows up in the memory search engine. I had been remembering a myriad of CRAZY memories during Yoga and then daily life but was what I was remembering real, or was it a misplaced memory file?
Contrary to POPULAR BELIEF, remembering traumatic events is not necessarily the path to healing trauma. Keeping memories, experiences and various parts of yourself, firmly associated in my past is a much better way to go. I was hoping that if I remembered the “lost” events I would be healed. Far from it. But I continued trying to remember these events even thinking that that was the solution. And so for over 3 years my internal computer, continued to breakdown….
Obviously, I had forgotten things. DARK STUFF. And in my naivete I decided that I would do what it takes to uncover and recover my past.
During my first conversation with “BABY KEN” I got a flash of PRIESTS.
Yes, priests. I am not kidding. A whole bunch of priests doing some really nasty things. Wow, it is the conventional childhood abuse scenario.
But I also knew about the ambiguity of traumatic memories. Maybe “priests” were a substitution, an easy substitution for something far worse. (Like my DAD.) If I couldn’t trust my memories or what I was thinking, what could I trust? How could I really know what HAPPENED?
When I was young, I went to Catholic School in Rye, New York. At five for a christmas pageant, I got to “play” an altar boy. It was all very cute and fun, but I can remember walking over by the church outside of the school dressed as an altar boy when a priest came out and said “Come on, are you coming to help with MASS? Come on!” Yes, he was probably just teasing me… but the truth or my truth of the matter is:
I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THAT.
I decided I would take my video camera to the church, now 40 years later, and walk about with BABY KEN and see what I could discover.
Here is the video. Gotta admire me for my determination.
Strange. No discovery.
Just an interaction with an incredibly pious old man.
There is a reason for everything….