There are two ways that I have come to understand my memory: 

1. There are notes written on a small post-it note.   Almost like a shopping list.  That note is put into an envelope which is put into a manilla folder which in turn is dropped into a filing cabinet that is buried 16 stories down in my mind. Someone or something else holds the key (the trigger) to accessing those notes and when that key is triggered, the post-it note pops up with with its very limited information. 
2. I know some stories. I know these stories because I keep repeating them so that I don’t forget them. They are stories, but are they actual memories?  Yes, kind of.  But are they true or could they have become a personal game of Chinese Whispers?  I don’t know…

Unfortunately most of the stories are of the times in my life that I consider to be traumatic.  For some reason I haven’t held onto many of the stories of happier times. These are the memories that need that external trigger in order to bring them out of that filing cabinet.  And as there is no-one in my life who can trigger those happy memories, they have become pretty much lost. 

Yesterday a friend in a different country had been going through her childhood photos and found one of her, her mum, me, and my daughter.  The photo was taken on a small island that holds a special place in my heart and, from the age of my daughter, would have been about 40 years ago.  I had absolutely no recall at all.  A photo such as this is often a trigger to some level of memory, or emotion, but there was absolutely nothing there.  The four people in the photo – including myself – were, at first glance, complete strangers.  I first recognised a building in the background, then I recognised my friend’s mum.  Finally I realised that this was a photo of a much younger me and my daughter as a child.

There are many layers to my concern about this.  First – I know that this is because of SDAM (Severely Deficient Autobiographical Memory) and not age-related, just as I know that I am autistic and have executive function issues – if a task is not written down I forget it.   But I’m almost 69 …  could it be the start of losing even more memory?  How would I know the difference? 

This was the fear I held when I started to write Hidden In A Dark Place.  I was planning, in that book, to look at the stories I have told myself and view them from other perspectives.  I was seeking to understand how much truth these stories still held after decades of repetitions.  Truth is not stagnant it changes with perspective and in seeking these answers, I was able to let the stories go.  SDAM can be a great tool to releasing what you no longer want to remember. 

I was afraid that if I let the stories disappear into that filing cabinet I would lose my anchor to reality.  What would be left?  Last week I re-read Hidden In A Dark Place.  It was a strange experience.  I know I wrote that book, I know that I lived those experiences but my memory has allowed these stories to slip away. It was like reading an autobiography of another person – one that I only vaguely knew. 

My advice to all who read this – take heaps of photos of happy times.  Write a daily journal, and don’t just write the important stuff – write about the weather, what you had for lunch, who you met for coffee, what housework you did that day.  Memories will slip by for most people as they age and being unable to grasp the very stories that made you who you are in this life can be scary.  I was right to fear deliberately doing this, but it was also the right thing to do.  Those times of trauma have made me who I am now, and my anchor in life is no longer my past, but what the past brought to me, and the strength I discovered I had held all along. 

Ashirvad Shanti

Auri’An