Foreboding sounds, weaving movements, fueling explosive force. Being too close, too near the source.
My body, splitting in half – one part feigning calm, the other fortifying for the fight.
Setting my sight on the escape plan, relief in knowing there’s always someplace else to go.
The aftermath. Indigestion, and stark recognition that only I would ever know.
Alcoholic amnesia is real.
Scientific studies: done. Papers: published – in peer reviewed journals. Conclusions: reached.
Some have multiple identities, early childhood trauma causing their brains to diverge until personality becomes an adaptation instead of what the rest of us would learn to call our selves.
Those who pile on other agents – hallucinogens, opiates, stimulants……the brain responds. The save file sorts. The neurons, hormones, proteins…..all converge to devise a plan to find homeostasis, to maintain balance.
And, at what cost?
It’s hard for the rest of us self righteous slobs to imagine losing most of the hours in a day or days to a black out of time. It’s harder yet to endure when somebody we love is missing them, particularly at our expense. Soiled underwear; dishware and glass, smashed; random condoms and strange clothing; interiors, trashed. And, all the protestations, escalating to fever pitch. I DIDN’T DO IT. IT WASN’T ME. I WASN’T THERE.
What about these convicts who don’t remember brutal murders?
How far does temporary insanity stretch?
What’s the ratio of impulse to conscience? When does the brain flip the switch?
And, is there a drug to produce total recall?
Talk about an assault to the senses. How would one live through that scenario?
From this range, seems like an even trade.
© 5/7/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. No copying in whole or part, including translation, and sharing permitted by direct blog link exclusively – no RSSING. Thank you for the respect.