Last year, after discovering a past life in the First World War, I spent much of my time deeply depressed and trying to remember (without success) where I was Christmas 1914. All I know is that I was likely in Shrewsbury around that time; I do not remember any last farewells to family or friends and it’s possible that those memories are lost forever.
This year, I’ve had a lot of disappointments. I had a publishing deal fall through, I’ve had to take medical leave due to some nagging physical problems and severe anxiety, and I’ve discovered that what my MtF friends have told me is true: going through a gender transition really tells you who your real friends are.
I also discovered a possible famous past life, at first embracing it with enthusiasm and then starting to hope it wasn’t true once I realized what it would really mean if I had been this person. I’m still waiting to see if I’m full of shit or if I have more verifiable memories than just the potential lucky guesses I had back in May.
Still, I suppose, this is nothing like crying bitter tears that I’d held for nearly a century, across several lifetimes never knowing where that pain came from. Not even close. I’m more frightened and upset by the present and future than the past, and at times it might be preferable to confront painful past life memories, but this is nothing like what I went through last year and I have to remind myself of that.
I’ve begun to put some distance between myself and what happened all those years ago, and I suppose that counts for one of my great successes of the past year.