Remember Before it's too Late

My whole life, I had simply believed that I had poor memory recall. I do, my pediatrician diagnosed me at seven years old. I couldn’t remember the names of my medications after I’d just been told, what I had for breakfast the day before, or what I did in school that day. I started carrying around a black notebook to write in to help me remember things. As you can imagine, my parents, teachers, and doctors became concerned and frustrated. Some were convinced I was lazy, some pretending, and some that I must have had an awful illness of some kind. What they don’t know is that I remembered things, things that I couldn’t possibly remember. 

You see, in that notebook I would carry everywhere, I began writing things down that I did remember. The memories started as jolts that would go just as quickly and suddenly as they came. Walking by a tree at eight, I remembered falling out of it and I doubled over, crying and clutching my arm. As soon as I went to run home, the pain stopped. I had never broken a bone in my life, never even climbed a tree, but I felt the branches beneath my hands, felt my hand slip. I felt the air rush around me as I fell and I felt every bit of the pain in my arm. So I wrote it down. That night, I tried hard to remember it again, but I couldn’t. When I told my parents, they just told me how wonderful it was that I had such a vivd imagination. 

From there, the memories intensified. In middle school, we were learning about the Salem witch trials. I was interested, but didn’t sleep well the night before. I decided to rest my eyes for just a second while I listened. While the teacher talked, I suddenly felt a terror that took the breath out of my chest. I sat up and tried to call out for help, but no words came out. I felt like I was suffocating, drowning. I felt the air leave my lungs and my body temperature drop. My body felt heavy, pulled downward, and I couldn’t move. Again, the feeling subsided as quickly as it came. After class, my friend started talking about how horrible it must have been to have had a stone attached to you and then be thrown in the water with drowning the only way to prove you weren’t a witch. Startled, I stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. Concerned, my friend came over to me and asked if I was okay. I pulled her into one of the empty classrooms and tried to explain what I felt and remembered. She laughed and said there was no way I could actually remember something that happened so long ago, especially since I couldn’t remember what the homework was once we left the classroom. She said I looked tired and must have dozed off for a few seconds. She may have been right, but then why did I so vividly know how it felt to have water fill your lungs?

In high school, my grades were steady, but starting to slip because my test scores weren’t up to par. Fortunately, my teachers were compassionate people who allowed me extra time and offered a lot of extra credit. They knew I worked hard and that I tried to learn and remember the information. By this time, I had filled five journals with nothing but these memories. I stopped trying to write down facts all together. My doctor suggested that I try seeing a therapist who could perhaps offer some tools. My parents and I did some research and we found one not to far from us whose website boasted “A spiritual, holistic, unique approach” to therapy. 

I went in for my first session, nervous but immediately put at ease by Dr. Amara. She had kind, trustworthy eyes and let me speak first after the introductions. I tried my best to explain to her what was going on, feeing more and more foolish with every word that came out of my mouth. She sat there, quietly, but looking interested rather than concerned like I had expected. I just kept talking and told her things that I had never told anyone before. When I was finally finished, she thanked me for being so open and vulnerable with her. She then asked if I believed in reincarnation. I told her I didn’t know, I had never really given it much thought. She told me that what I was experiencing were remembrances from past lives. That I was an old soul who had lived many lives before the current one I was in. She told me the reason my memory in the present was so weak was because there was something from the past blocking my ability, something I had to discover first. 

I asked if these memories could be dangerous or harmful to me since they were so strong. She said no, not in a physical sense, and encouraged me to keep writing because sometimes these past life flashes (that is what she calls them) can be warnings of something dangerous to come, I just have to be willing to embrace them and listen. 

It has been almost a month since our last session but I need to see her sooner. See, the other night, I was lying in bed and had a horrible feeling of a blade going straight into my chest. This one was different though, it was hazy. It was like watching a television with bad reception. I couldn’t clearly see or feel it. The cold of the metal, the pain, both were there but muted somehow, undefined. Then I remembered what Dr. Amara said about these past life flashes sometimes being a warning for something bad to come. 

I left her a message on her cell phone. I keep hearing strange noises outside my window tonight. I may not have a good memory in the traditional sense, but I won’t remember to call Dr. Amara again first thing in the morning. I just hope it isn’t too late.