Sink or swim.
In the course of a day, there are many times when you need to keep some piece of information in your head for just a few seconds. Your short-term memory plays a key role in this process.
Information is transferred from short-term memory (also known as working memory) to long-term memory through the hippocampus, so named because its shape resembles the curved tail of a seahorse. The hippo is a very old part of the cortex, evolutionarily, and is located in the inner fold of the temporal lobe.
It is a bit like a sorting center where these new sensations are compared with previously recorded ones. It also creates associations among an object’s various properties. The hippocampus keeps strengthening the associations among these new elements until, after a while, it no longer needs to do so. The cortex will have learned to associate these various properties itself to reconstruct what we call a memory.
And here’s the kicker… Mr. Ex has completely flooded my hippo. No proverbial retaining wall can withstand the flurry of constant reminders, triggers, associations, inside jokes, mutual friends, movie marathons, and a few dozen more catalysts that exacerbate the painful memories.
I don’t mean literally all my recalled data storage regarding *him* and us as a couple are bad. Most are not. But thinking, processing, and reflecting on the extraordinary amount of love I had for the guy makes my hair hurt.
What’s ironic about this complex human phenomenon is under normal conditions, I notoriously have a horrible memory…I’m basically a gold fish without the gills. I don’t know what is wrong with my brain’s capacity to retain certain information. Sometimes I think it’s because I’ve experienced so much in this world, that my inbox is at capacity. Sometimes I think it’s because I’ve been reincarnated countless times that my hard drive is just tired. Sometimes I’m convinced it’s early on-set Alzheimer’s.
Then a keyword search on Google cleared up the mystery pretty quickly: Excessive or prolonged stress (with prolonged cortisol) may hurt memory storage.
In this case, I wish more than anything that my apparent ability to magically forget certain events, certain conversations, and certain feelings could also be applied. It’s too painful. Which is why I believe [until recently] for the last 2 months…they’ve laid dormant deep down inside. But now the floodgates have washed over me and there is no life preserver in sight.
For instance — every time New York City presents itself — be it through TV shows, through family members, or through everyday passing conversation — I think of him. I think of our infamous trip in the winter. I think of the promises made. I think of my siblings looking him dead in the eye and giving him another shot. I think of the first fight I’ve had as an adult with my own Mother over the scandalous reunion.
Another example — as things slowly progress with the Quarterback [QB] and we experience “firsts” together…I can’t help but think back to my formerly known as Mr. Big. I used to cook for him every single weekend, especially the first food intake of the day. And I loved every part of what came to be a ritual — the gesture itself, teaching him how to fry bacon without burning it, explaining the science of when pancakes are ready to be flipped, refilling his cup with fresh coffee, and feeling comfortable enough to ultimately loosen our belts from expanded bellies while we vegged out on the couch.
This past weekend I made my very first morningtime meal for QB. Although I’ve concocted countless variations of eggs, bacon & cheese before…the experience just wasn’t the same. Not a single part of it felt normal. And I know most of that is probably because it literally was a new encounter with someone I’ve only scratched the surface with, but I missed the fundamental familiarity.
Starting over can be exciting, and it can also be scary. Making new memories can be fun, and it can also seem like an optical illusion. At this stage in the game, I’m simultaneously hovering between two worlds: MaryB and the Matrix.
In my past, I effortlessly inhaled pure oxygen from the universe…it was that easy. In my present, I need an oxygen tank, breathing mask, flippers and goggles. We’re talking full-fledged scuba gear. The memory levels are at an all-time high…but I’m determined to swim.
Because, in my future, to quote Carrie: I’m looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.
