Sometimes essays write themselves in less than 15 minutes. This is one of them.

I have gone dark ops1 for the last ten years with little to no explanation. And, not just with people who would know why, but also with people who wouldn’t.

I don’t know much about how to process the last decade except that, right now, I feel like I’ve been born again, and yes, I mean that in the biblical sense. It’s like a weird blackout curtain has been drawn but, this time, fully. Actually, it feels like I grabbed this iron curtain with both hands and tore it down with every remaining ounce of strength I had. It’s a very freeing feeling; I’ll never let it go again.

When it finally hit me, I felt like I could breathe again. I finally responded to messages I had been meaning to get back to.2 I started regularly communicating with people. I started working out again, doing the stuff I love, and actually going outside and getting some fresh air just because I wanted to. I stopped being so cagey and shifty on the outside and thinking that everyone was a potential enemy. I returned to my ultra-positive self, and I started trusting people a little bit, too—not stupidly or naively, but with perspective and grace.3

I don’t know why I had to go through the journey for this long. But, I finally reached escape velocity last spring, and now, I feel like I’ve landed back on planet Earth. Maybe, though, I’m on a new planet. Maybe I’m on Earth 2.0 for the next journey, like a video game portal to the next world to accomplish the next mission.

Almost ten years ago, it felt like right was wrong and wrong was right. It felt like I lived in “opposite land”. I had grown up with a soul that glistened when it realized just how many dreams you could achieve in life; I was SO excited for the future! And then, it got very cold, very quickly.

In a way, I feel like I just started sitting and waiting to see if the winds would change. Certainly, I prepared in the meantime, but I just couldn’t believe that even the optimist within me was giving up. She was so tired of fighting to keep the embers alive but, God, she never stopped trying. And, I wish I could tell her, “thank you”. But, I think I have an even better plan—to say “thank you” with my actions, with my dreams, and with becoming everyone and everything I am meant to be.

For those who have been so understanding over the course of the last decade, thank you. And, to those who could not be understanding because they simply didn’t know what was going on, I understand.

It has not been the easiest for me to be around myself, either, but I wasn’t going to walk out on that little optimist endlessly trying to keep the ember going. I wasn’t going to turn out the lights and squash the last of the eternal flame. And, when I thought I would, my mom stopped me. God stopped me, and He kept inserting these really optimistic friends in my path who, whether they knew it or not, also stopped me.

There is most definitely a reason for the season in life, and you wouldn’t have heard that as loudly, clearly, and confidently from me while I was in the tunnel—the most you may have heard would have been whispers from a sore and desolate place clutching to the last strand of the most desperate, fleeting hope. But, I can tell you this much: you will most certainly make it; you just have to believe.

Only then will you run free.

A little wiser now from what you’ve shown me. 🙌🥳🙌🎉

sincerely, yours truly

Having an eidetic memory1 isn’t something I inherently knew growing up. It’s not like I thought I was different. My ego was funny like that as a kid—self-confidence was off the charts haha.

Seriously though, I genuinely didn’t realize it. I thought it was weird when people couldn’t recall specific details or needed certain things repeated. I was the kid that would go “oh yeah remember there was that one conversation we had in class that mentioned this specific topic and it was this student’s question that prompted it and this is why it was related to the bigger topic of things and the teacher said it was an excellent question but it wouldn’t be on the test but it would be good to know *nudge nudge* so probably good for bonus points…”

I could’ve told them the exact placement of everyone and everything in the classroom, what was on the whiteboard, what was on the smartboard, and even what I was writing on my page of notes in my notebook. Hell, I probably could’ve told them what was for lunch that day. If I was really feeling it, I could’ve told them what time it was when that lil factoid was said, which tie/outfit the teacher was wearing… I refrained.

This would normally occur 2-3 weeks after the event occurred (in preparation for an upcoming test), and I would usually receive blank stares minus one other who would go “oh yeah! that!” or a quieter “uhh yeah! I vaguely remember that… (???)”

I just… I didn’t think it was abnormal to do that, and my parents didn’t really hint that it was either. I’m very grateful for their nurturing and supporting of my confidence.

Now, sure, one instance of this doesn’t sound remotely groundbreaking, but… what if I said that I remember most of life like this? Really?

I’m not teasing about this in the slightest. I don’t think of myself like this, but I do think a good way to explain it is something akin to The Giver.2 I made the mistake once of describing my brain as Google or a computer when I was talking with a classmate in middle school, which prompted the smart-aleck response, “well then, what’s the surface temperature of the sun, hm!?” Thank you, J, that was… not what I meant. We were packing our backpacks and about to leave our 8th grade Ancient History class (which, in my “A-H” class schedule was “F Bell”) and head to the Refectory since lunch period was next… if you were so curious

…there may have been lasagna that day

(…relax, I’m just kidding.)3

—

The many contributors of Wikipedia4 specifically on this subject have gathered that while some kids may have a truly eidetic memory, adults do not. And, while I don’t believe this at all (see: Exhibit A, me, and Exhibit B, my dad. see also: Exhibit C, my mom), I do think there is a little something to this.

Indulge me for a moment.

For the last eight years of my life, I thought I lost my memory retention entirely. I wasn’t recalling things the way that I once did, and I certainly wasn’t breezing through school anymore (see: my undergrad experience5). All I could really vividly recall was the events of ninth grade, and everything beyond that point felt like a blur.

It was pretty bad, but it got even worse in my second year of undergrad. I wasn’t sleeping to begin with (thank you, roommate and overflow housing), but it was like I zoned out in life. It was almost as if life was happening, and I was just existing in it. And, that isn’t to say that I didn’t participate in the daily undergrad life activities, but it was as if, emotionally, I was not present.

The only thing I kept painstakingly remembering, like a really dreadful cuckoo clock, was when certain events had happened.6 It was like the only space I had room for was trauma, and I had no room, emotionally, to spare for all the new, exciting, and meaningful memories.7

I kept vowing to myself that I would hop out of the feedback loop, no matter how hard I had to try, and it was like every year, I kept failing. I kept slipping back, and I would be right back to square one. Physically, I was moving forward, but, mentally, I was right back to being the broken 15 year old who had suddenly become agonizingly aware of just how hideous people could be.

Was I ever going to reach escape velocity? Was I ever going to leave? Or, was I always going to be 15 in a 20 or 30-something year-old body? I was confused, and I desperately wanted out of this internal mental asylum I had locked myself into8 where healing wasn’t possible.

And so, I did, this last spring, reach the escape velocity which I had so desired. And, I had a choice: to remain locked in the feedback loop, or to make preparations to leave and, mentally, start an adventure to somewhere new. I chose the latter for obvious reasons, but also because otherwise I would delay the path to becoming the someone I am meant to be.

It has taken a lot of energy for my family and I to re-fortify,9 as well as the blessing of being surrounded by the right people at the right time.

And so, this leads me back to my point.

I don’t think adults are incapable of having an eidetic memory. In a study of two, my dad and I have proven that. And, despite what my mom says, she has proven that, too.

What I do think happens, though, is life.

What if we all have a choice to maintain the best memory we are capable of, but what happens is that we internalize stress and negativity to cloud our “20/20 hindsight vision” aka memory bank?

I’m not saying that we choose negativity, but it’s really difficult in this day in age to escape it. We are constantly surrounded by the terrors of the world, in addition to our every days of wading through memories past that could’ve been different were it for x, y, and z. We each live with our own nightmares called horrific lived experiences, some worse than others. Then, we watch or read the news. And then, we go about our lives.

There’s been studies on how stress affects our physical health,10 but, mom, I think you’re 100% right that it’s not limited to just that.

Our brain health is super important. It’s connected to our nervous system, and one wrong whack on the head could lead to swelling and irreversible damage. Why?

And, why is it that in my last peer mentor advising lunch, we devoted a whole hour to mindset and mindfulness now that we are wading into the 1L pool of stress?

Furthermore, why do people behave the way they do when exposed to extreme stress?

I certainly am not the one with all of the answers. But, psychology is interesting, and there has to be more that isn’t being, or is not yet able to be, studied.

—

The hypothesis: What if memory capability is tied to cortisol levels and stress?11

—

It’s not that suddenly I’m cured of stress (*gasp* no way), but, now, I view it differently.

Here’s some food for thought: my memories that I thought I wasn’t retaining are suddenly coming back into focus. I thought I had lost eight years of memories, but this mental computer has just been storing it on the backup, ready for me to entertain.

It’s not a perfect backup—there’s always some corrupted files along the way—but it’s much better than I would have ever expected.12 The muscle memory is helpful, too, to make up for some of the lack when it comes to something as simple as cooking or studying.13

—

So, here’s a round-about explanation of why I chose to write this essay in the first place. This last week or so, I was an emotional wreck. Hormones were partially to blame, but there was something more that I couldn’t explain until, ah, I recalled it’s two weeks to the first week of October and this whole blip was the lead-up to the undoing of disaster once upon a time ago.

Over the last (nearly) decade, I’ve learned that rather than running away from my “stress” and hiding in the fetal position while I rock back and forth and pray that it goes away (spoiler: it doesn’t), I should probably face it head on. So, I cracked open my protest journal14 that I wrote in senior year titled “Breakfast with a Side of Angst.” And, I sat after reading each entry, remembering exactly how I felt the first time going through everything, as well as the second time recounting it for myself, my family, and my English teacher.15 My “stress” didn’t go away, but, rather, it was quelled, like I had found it again in this imaginary game of hide-and-seek.

This time, though, I had reached escape velocity. I remembered that I was here, not there, and that I was finally welcome to leave this tower in which I had felt trapped.

I processed my emotions, and now, here I sit, writing and realizing that while I have regained this ability to remember almost everything, I have known, for a while, the ability of not remembering, or feeling, much of anything at all. And, while I detest having to, every year, recall the insanity that happened, I love the privilege of recalling the beautiful moments so much more.

God did not promise sun without rain. The gift of memory is to preserve emotions in the shadowboxes within our brain, and share them with others, so that even in our physical absence, they shall remain.

May we take time to love ourselves and others, make space for each other, and appreciate where each of us have been. We each get the joy of experiencing how life is a rollercoaster, so buckle up, buttercup, enjoy the ride, and go all in.

“I’ll being seeing you, in all the old, familiar places.”

Cheers!

Before my ride or die, Zsophia, there were two Siamese kitty boys who were like older brothers to me. Then, there was our and my grandparents’ very first Vizslas.

Maggie (“Magyar”) and Sasa ("princess") were litter mates born July 22, 2013 at 11:39pm, the same day as Prince George's birth, as well as my birthday!

The longer version of the events deserve its own essay, so for now, I will keep it to this: fortunately, Sasa is still here and healthy as ever, but Maggie passed at 19 weeks due to osteodystrophy, a—at the time—once in a blue moon occurrence on which the vets could only find one research paper. I, being 12 at the time, felt solely responsible because I had chosen her, the lil runt with the big eyes and bigger heart.

I look back now and realize it was no mistake she came home with us.

We told the breeder about what had transpired, and based on the contract, we were permitted first pick of the next litter. I, for one, wanted Maggie back, not necessarily a different puppy (12 year old me was a bit upset), but this was the next best option.

Whichever pup of the litter we chose, my mom had already decided on a name, Zsophia Grace Dover. Her name constituted what my mom needed after the surprising and difficult loss of Maggie.

—

Zsophia: "wisdom" and needing to understand what had transpired

Grace: "grace" to maintain dignity in the learning process

Dover: "do over" or a redo of Maggie

—

Zsophia Grace Dover gave us exactly that—not only with Maggie, but also with her.

On April 22, 2014, exactly 9 months later, Zsophia and her litter mates were born. And, the rest is history.

As a puppy, she may have tried every bit of patience we had, but in doing so, she made our hearts into her home. I think she's the most aware puppy we've ever had, perhaps even a human in a dog body.

Her soul is the epitome of positive energy, light, and optimism regardless of what is going on. I aspire to that level of inner peace.

She was highly in tune with the emotions of anyone with whom she crossed paths. In fact, she could sense when someone feared dogs, and she immediately would go from her normal excited self to a calmer version of herself to make them less anxious.

She sat on the chairs in the vet office like a human…

She also sat on the dining room chairs while we were eating. Obviously, she needed to be able to survey her options.

She didn't know why we would hold hands before eating, but she would bump her little snoot under mom and dad's hands so that she was included.

She knew how rooms should be connected and would go through the bathroom cabinet to try to get to the closet to get her ball (she's a pointer. go figure!).

She would wait to hop on the "human" bed because she knew she had to wait for her blanket, and then she would indicate that she needed to be bundled (or taco'd). She also knew that dad's "tucka tucka" meant to scoot over otherwise he would fall over the edge. She would claim half the bed by morning anyway—as she should.

She also was really awesome at indicating stuff and communicating with us, in general. She was super picky about what she wanted and how, and she knew how to tell us so we would understand.

She totally abused this power. When she was being boarded, she convinced the staff to feed her by hand. HA!

Now, here’s the funniest part: she never got her certificate of completion for puppy training. Shocker, I know. But, she didn’t need it. And, if I'm being honest, she didn’t want it; her spark has always been intrinsic to her nature.

Zsophia, I don’t know if we’ll ever know another soul like yours, but if Maggie sent us you, I have no doubt you’ll send a miracle we’ll never forget, too.

I hope you are having fun out there in the big wide world beyond. You’ve probably met Maggie, Baxter, and Samson by now. And, I have no doubt grandma and grandpap are taking care of spoiling you, as you deserve. Your clay paws will always stay crossed, you distinguished young lady, and we even made sure there was a mug nearby for you to tap your nails into *just* so you can perpetually bug dad one more time.

Thank you for being part of one of the craziest adventures called the last 10.5 years of our lives. You may be a chapter of our lives, but we are your whole story. Thank you ❤️

Now, go be the incredibly hyper smart dingus only a Vizsla can achieve, you pita.

(oh come on you know I can only be so serious)

—

ily to the moon, the stars, jupiter, and everywhere you are. big sissy hugs and kissies.

see you in the next one :)

(mom’s song for you, sissy <3)

—

forever feeling your soul around mine,

your two-legged sissy <3

I hope you know we tried.

We would’ve moved mountains to fix you.

My one wish was for you to be part of the more beautiful part of this journey —

The part where everything comes together.

But, I think, in a way, you already are.

You’ve always been the leader of our ‘pack.’

This triple bond will never truly be broken.

If you ever want to drop back by, we’ll be waiting right here

Because it’s not goodbye, it’s see you later.

I love you 🐾

—

"Grief never ends… But it changes…

It is the price of love."1

It's why I resist letting people into my life.

It's why I asked God why we were supposed to take care of little pup Maggie even for such a short time.

It's why I ask God now why our rover dover2 has a late stage, spread, malignant spleen tumor.

I've been so tired, but it's because I love her so much. We fight hard in this family for those we love. We don't accept outcomes - we fight back. 

And, that's the answer. That's the 'why.'

Others without this motivation to fight may have put Zsophia down after her first crisis. We instead brought her home and cared extensively for her. Now, she's gotten 3 more blessed weeks (and counting) out of life. 

She's helped with packing, traveling, and move-in, and she's even helped me with orientation.

She’s gotten Chick-fil-a, midnight meal snackies, and endless (within reason) treats.

She’s gotten nose boops, snoot kissies, and all the scritches she could ever ask for.

Most importantly, she’s gotten all of our love.

With Maggie, I always felt terribly sad, especially because I was the one who picked her out. She was the little runt, the small but mighty soul, with the biggest cutest eyes you've ever seen, and an even bigger heart.

At the time, Mom would tell me that it's because we could love and care for her. I didn't buy it. But now, I do. I get it. 

It's not that there's not other people or families like this, but it's realizing when you and your family is one of those, and it's feeling the gaping hole of hurt and sorrow because of how much love you gave. 

So, I hope Zsophia knows how much she is loved. I hope Maggie did, too. The cats. Grandpap and Grandma. 

Being an empath is a rollercoaster at any moment in time, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. I would so much rather give my 110%, the entirety of my love. 

Why? Because “[w]hen we love, we always strive to become better than we are."3 

And why else? "[B]ecause the entire universe conspired to help me find you."4

I love you, Zsophia. And, I am so thankful for every extra miracle minute I get to spend with you.