Everything changed when N came to take care of us. I no longer endured the interminable emptiness of isolation, at least not in the same painful way. Other kinds of pain replaced it. But there was relief, too. Some of what seems so horrific now was actually a welcome respite back then.
I remember the jar, the clear liquid, the white rag. I can see the rag descending over my face, and I did not fear it. After the sweet smell, time would go by in an instant, and I'd wake up feeling relaxed, dreamy. Disoriented too, but not intensely or painfully so. Nothing bad would happen while I was unconscious. Or so I thought at the time! Who knows what was actually going on while I was out of it. At the time, it felt peaceful, and so I accepted it--even hoped for it.
Today I face these memories of being drugged with mixed emotions. I feel horror at what was done to me, and what might have been done to me and to my brother while we were out. I cringe when I think about how it seemed like it was frequent and systematic. I feel sick to my stomach when I consider the known long-term effects of being exposed to such chemicals. I mourn the permanent damage done to my brain, and I sometimes feel frustrated--even angry--that I must live with the permanent side-effect of chronic low-level hallucinations. But the actual memories themselves don't feel scary.
There are associated things that happened that were scary at the time, though I can remember it now without having such a strong emotional reaction. I don't know if it was withdrawal, or an excess dose, or what--but at one point I had an episode that I now think must have been some kind of drug-related reaction. I woke up sweating, fully hallucinating, insects and snakes swarming the ceiling. The lights were warping and distorting. My parents insisted I was having a nightmare, but this was no dream. I remember my brother went through something similar. I had no idea this could be connected to the sweet-smelling rag. I didn't even know I was hallucinating, I thought it was real. That night with the bugs was the worst of it, and yet it didn't feel like anything that had been DONE to me, it just WAS. And so maybe that's why it doesn't hurt so much to remember it, even the worst fear connected to the drugs.
I am not sure if and how having been systematically drugged affected me later on, and I don't know how it affects me now. For some of my traumatic memories, I can draw clear lines between past injuries and current fears. Maybe this particular set of traumatic events didn't really scar me that much. Or maybe I am still holding back some of the associated feelings--something I do a lot. Anyways, just because I can't see the connections to the present doesn't mean they aren't there. And even if the connections do exist, it doesn't mean I have to find them. In any case, part of me is still grateful I had the peace, the respite, as I needed it badly back then.
