I’ve tried many things to make the memories and their terrible vividness go away: alcohol, drugs, sex, lots of Benadryl-doused sleep to avoid nightmares. And, when that didn’t work, a razor to my thigh, a lit cigarette pressed into a palm. All of it made me feel silly and fragile. Sometimes I think it’s that feeling—unending weakness, total vulnerability—of which I’m most resentful.
