The details of delivering my baby on the bathroom floor were fuzzy. I struggled to force myself to remember, even though the memories were unpleasant. What I first thought was a backache quickly progressed into labor pains strong enough to prevent me from getting up off the floor to find help. I tried to be strong, but the thought of having the baby alone was daunting. I wanted someone to hold my hand and tell me it would be alright. As the pain became unbearable, my last thoughts were of Logan right before I passed out. When I regained consciousness, I heard Logan’s voice urging me to push. Initially, I thought I was imagining his voice out of fear or pain. I didn’t know which but looking back on it I remembered something else too. He touched me. Was it possible that I had hallucinated someone holding my hand or wiping away my tears? My mind raced for a logical explanation. My darkest fear was losing my touch with reality. So many times, in my struggle to cope with daily life, my mind would disassociate. It was something I learned as a child -- my mind’s way of protecting me from the abuse. Without that coping mechanism, I would have lost it long ago. Sometimes, it scared me when I honestly couldn’t remember how I got a bruise or lost hours at a time. Sometimes, when my mind shut down the memories were lost to me.
