Alphabet Soup

This quiet and peaceful morning finds me pondering anew on the alphabet soup my damaged memory has made of the 30 year pro and diagnostic label parade which made up my active psychotherapy. When I attempt to pull specifics out of that long and confusing ordeal, the best I seem able to do is the image of a soup bowl filled with pasta letters floating randomly through a meaty broth. The names, ranks and serial numbers are hopelessly mixed. I trust the images my graphic memory has stored from that therapy parade, but I have zero confidence in my memory of which letters belong to which faces and/or physical settings. I'm one of those folks who never forgets a face and never remembers a name. That quirk makes me a great designer, but has often gotten me banned from the copyright comittees. I promise I canae be trusted to copy ^it^ right, whatever the ^it^ in need of copying. My politics ain't none too correct, neither. An offended gasp triggers my punny nature every time. . . Can't help it. It *just* happens as surely as a baby will cry over a too-long dirty diaper. The best I seem able to do is leave the room for an emergency therapy session.

My clinical paperwork has expired in the 6 years since my last participation in the VA mental health clinics. I am still receiving my disability pension, so I know I am still in the database, but. . . bureaucracy. . . Hush my punny tongue. . . I'll let you do your own figuring on that one. I'm just setting out another bowl for yet another ladel of alphabet soup. That stuff gets so-o-o-o messy when you let it drop on the table and/or floor. Quite a few of the noodles in my alphabet soup have advised me to keep that paperwork current, even during the years that I amnae actively using it. Obviously I havenae done well at following that advice.

I wonder often if I should be concerned about those memory knots. I am fairly confident I can trust the whispers coming from more than one of those floating noodles that the memory damage from the Trauma Induced Amnesia is permanent. I can expect memory tangles for the rest of my life. Trust your instinct over your memory. My instinct says the name/acronym for it/her/him isnae terribly important while using the skills and attitude adjustments I learned from the collective.