Early & Alone #48: Trauma Anniversaries
There’s been a lot of talk over the last few weeks about the anniversary of COVID. The shutdown happened suddenly for most of us, leaving us with a clear day we can point to and remember, “This was the last time I went to the office or ate in a restaurant or hugged my friends or took public transportation.” For me, that day was March 14, a year ago today. It was already clear that everything was changing. I’d met up with two writer friends on March 12 and we’d spent the day together, writing in a cafe, carefully washing our hands but sitting close together. We’d planned on going to the MFA after writing, but decided to keep writing, then get dinner instead. It was at dinner, biscuits and barbecue at Sweet Cheeks, that I got an email announcing the MFA had closed that afternoon until further notice. That night, the writing conference I’d planned on attending in early April was cancelled. I worried about my vacation to Iceland, but didn’t honestly think I would have to cancel it. I was so naive.
On March 14, a Saturday, I had a date. It was a second date, with a guy whom I’d met for tea in Providence the weekend before. We’d planned on walking around the Arboretum near my apartment. We didn’t cancel because we figured it was outdoors and it would probably be our last chance to see one another for a few weeks. We bumped elbows in greeting and walked around, talking about how weird everything was. I showed him around the neighborhood afterwards, and he didn’t seem to want to leave, so against my better judgement, we got lunch. The restaurant was deserted, but I figured it was a combination of it being a late lunch and the virus. Later, after we’d walked all around the neighborhood, and he still didn’t seem to want to leave, I agreed to drinks at the local Mexican place. It was crowded, and we sat at the bar and got drinks and ate tacos. I felt uncomfortable the whole time, knowing I wasn’t supposed to be there, that no one there should have been there, but also knowing that it was the last hurrah for a while.
And it was. You know the rest.
Research shows that our bodies remember trauma, can recall specific dates even when our brains don’t, at least not consciously. I experienced this on a day this past December, a Friday. I’d been in an incredibly awful mood all day, nearly breaking down in tears over some minor work-related issue. I figured it was because winter was coming, and the holidays, and we’d all been so isolated for nine months. There were lots of reasons to feel cranky.
That night, I decided to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind because it was leaving Netflix at the end of the month and I hadn’t seen it in years. It had been one of my favorite movies when it came out. I’d watched it on my first date with my first real boyfriend, and hadn’t really watched it since then. I’d especially not watched it since my divorce, figuring a movie about the breakdown of relationships would be too much. But it’s been years, and I wanted to see if I still loved it.
I did, and it was an emotional rewatch. There was one particular scene, when Joel is trying to save his memories of Clementine, and they’re in the house on the beach in Montauk, and she says goodbye to him, says something about it being important to say it. It pretty much wrecked me.
After the movie was over, I was walking Gizmo and thinking about the movie, about how emotional it had made me, but how I was glad I’d watched it. Still, it wasn’t until after we were back inside, and I was standing in the kitchen, throwing him a toy, when the date smacked me in the face and I gasped. It was the anniversary of the awful day my ex-husband told me he was having an affair with one of my closest friends and didn’t want to be married to me anymore. It’s a date that if you asked me, I would have to stop and think about, but every year, I’d remember. This year, my brain didn’t remember but my body absolutely did.
This week has been a long one--busy and stressful. I’ve felt more burnt out than I have in a long while. I wonder how much of that is the minutiae of work stuff, of regular adulting like paying taxes and making vet appointments and meal planning, and how much of it is my body slowly processing the weight of this year, like an app running in the background, quietly sucking up all of the energy until your battery is totally out and you don’t know what happened. I think we’re all feeling this, despite the hope of spring and longer days and vaccines. So be gentle to yourself and kind to one another. It’s been a long year.