Humans are strange creatures. We develop odd habits and choose strange memories and events to base our thoughts on and then we wrap them about ourselves like a warm winter scarf until they are buried so deep in our psyche that we can’t remember a time before. We only know we are always cold, but remember the time when we were warm and that we don’t know how to find it again.
My house was broken into long ago. Long enough that I can’t easily recall how long it was, or what year it was. Only that is was warmish outside and I came home to find my space violated and the intruder stole both tangible items and things I didn’t know could be stolen. Memories, my sense of security, my ability to be comfortable in my own home...things I could never get back. Now on random evenings it will grip me like an icy hand, that sense of panic, the feeling of being constantly on edge. I can see myself still laying on the carpet sobbing, beside the 8 inch knife the burglar left me, so long ago.
I remember when I first moved in to my current home. It was filled with warmth and simplicity. I was young and on an adventure into something I couldn’t plan or predict. I loved it. My next memory is of a sense of panic and fear, enough to drive me out of my house and into the wild city streets. I didn’t want to be here. Felt contained, like I was waiting for something, something bad, to come and find me unprepared, so I would walk...walk anywhere. Dreading that I would have to turn around and go back and go to sleep, leaving myself vulnerable.
How did a break in change me? No one shattered me, I wasn’t even there! A stupid patio window somehow re-wrote the internal workings of my brain. I don’t get it. My house is safe. We have good locks, strong doors, and maintain good habits. We reinforced the security around the patio door and put in alarms and hidden security. I still, to this day, jump at every noise and panic to think I didn’t lock the door, on a daily basis. Am I afraid that they will break in again, or am I afraid they will re-write me again and I will have to spend the time again to re-learn myself.
I remember feeling like I was young and owned the world. Nothing could change me or get to me, nothing concerned me, I was secure in the knowledge of who I was and where I belonged. I had personal ideals, I was in for the ride and wherever it took me. Now much like with my home I feel like I am still waiting for something to return. Like I am struggling to crawl out of the dark, and feel comfortable sitting in my own skin again. I don’t even remember the transition.
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