Evacuation

It was a Saturday night. I was very young, maybe about 6 or 7 years old at this time. It was getting later and later as I stared out the bay window of my living room into the darkness. I was worried about my grandfather. He had been gone for too many hours and we hadn’t heard from him. I remember this vividly… soundtrack music played through my head. I was taken out of my body and placed into a movie. Visions of my grandfather’s body trickled behind my eyelids; a car crash, maybe he had been murdered in a drug exchange gone wrong, maybe he had found a prostitute.

While my grandmother seemed unconcerned with his whereabouts, I panicked myself into depersonalization.

He, of course, came home a couple hours with my uncle after my personal breakdown. He had gotten a flat tire and was okay, besides being angry.

This happened often to me. I’m not even sure when it began, but that is the earliest memory I have of feeling that I was in a movie.

On the playground in third grade, we were playing a competitive game of human-sized PacMan. I had been displaced and became an assassin. Again, familiar music reverberated through my internal walls as I tactfully devised plots against my 4 ft opponents.

When I was abused, I had become a CIA agent who was undercover on a top-secret mission to bust a child predator. So, I couldn’t give up my identity, or I’d lose my case gain.

My second day as a college student, my boyfriend at the time took me over to his apartment. He had been an officer in the Marines. He unlocked his closet, and there, displayed on the walls were his guns. I picked up his M40 rifle and became someone that I don’t even remember now.

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