I had this moment last night that put a lot of the last few months in perspective for me within the context of my whole life. Admittedly, I think being high made it that much more startling, but I’m fairly certain this would have hit me at some point when I simply wasn’t expecting it.

I had been out yesterday and noticed that my wallet wasn’t in my bag. This itself is not an uncommon occurrence. I frequently drop my bag while it’s open on the floor at home, or even more common, throw my wallet down into a pile of laundry or clothes on the floor because I know, at some point, I will get up to pick them up or put them away and see it there. I have specific habits that I know are a result of my anxiety. I don’t let go of my wallet until I am in a place where it’s safe for me to drop it. I don’t put it in my pocket unless I know I’m putting my hand back in my pocket. I don’t let it leave my hand if I am not at home. All things I know about me. But my wallet wasn’t there when I went to look for it, and I didn’t need it as I was looking for something else, so I just put it out of my mind because I was busy with other things.

But I forgot that I realized I didn’t have my wallet while I was out and I didn’t do what the first thing I’m supposed to do on days like that. I didn’t look for it as soon as I got home. That is what I do. Always. It’s second nature. It’s like breathing. “I forgot my wallet today, let’s make sure I have it for the next time I go out.” It’s not something I have to think about. It’s something I just do. And I didn’t.

I get home, my nerves shot from the day because my body still isn’t used to feeling safe outside the threshold of my apartment where even then it’s not certain of its security. I unload my baggage onto Cody, who listens diligently as always, and we take an edible and I start processing more and more of what’s going on.

I’ve got a job again. Essentially. I keep hesitating on calling it that because it doesn’t feel real. But I’m working. And part of this job has me learning a lot about myself in ways I didn’t expect. Things about the way my brain works and processes sensory input. Things like what I hear and what I see don’t quite sync up. Things like I can’t seem to do two normal things a person is supposed to do at once.

So I’m getting ready for bed, ruminating on how this job is making me contend with something I didn’t know about myself and how I don’t know if it’s something I am capable of overcoming or compensating with or if this is potentially an actual disability that’s come as a result of my trauma — because it’s not just me struggling to learn something because it’s a challenge. I know that feeling. I relish in it. But this particular thing feels more like hitting a wall. There’s a cap here. It looks like the end of the line. It’s the same wall I hit when I realize I missed out on a fundamental step in my development growing up. I’m not just having a hard time. This isn’t how I’m supposed to work. Something’s physically happening to me, and there’s no other logical explanation to me than — my brain has been changed by something significant.

I’m brushing my teeth, and I walk out to indicate to Cody I had something else to unpack when I see his wallet. And I get hit instantly with the memory of not seeing my wallet in my bag. I don’t panic right away. I look immediately in the usual spots the way I would have if I had just gotten home. But it’s not there.

And then I panic. Because I realize I don’t remember when I last had my wallet. How long had I been without it? When did I stop keeping track of it? Why did I stop keeping track of it?

I realized, all at once, how much I rely on my muscle memory and habit to carry the load. The emotional and mental labor of functioning gets offloaded into ritual to better make room for my anxiety to ruminate and occupy my present. This processing issue I’m learning about myself, this mental wall and inability to sync sensory input isn’t a facet of my inherent make-up. It’s not like colorblindness or auditory delay. It’s depersonalization. It’s dissociation.

I’m not connected with myself in the present because my present is operating exclusively on things I have programmed for it so that I can better stay in my head in preparation for all potential catastrophes I can imagine.

I relied on my ability to remember to look for my wallet because I’m a creature of habit and this is the ritual I have carefully constructed for myself so that I don’t have to remember it actively. I expect these things to happen the same way I expect to breathe. That’s just how it is.

But things aren’t the same anymore. Like a robot vacuum when you move your coffee table, my muscle memory doesn’t apply to my life as it is now. Something’s in the way of my pathing and it broke.

My body didn’t remember to look for my wallet because things are different now.

I didn’t realize that that sound cue happened with that visual because I’m not there.

I’m not patching in the update.

I’m working through trauma.

It’s scary to lose something important. But it’s even scarier when losing that important thing isn’t a result of your usual behavior. It’s scary to realize that what you once trusted in has changed.

It’s scary to be faced with the reality that you can’t go back, no matter how hard you try. You can adapt and overcome challenges, but you can’t get the version of you before trauma back…