about a square peg in a round hole

Warning: This is a really random post, courtesy of reading this as well as watching The Butterfly Effect again an hour ago.

Do memories compose reality, or comprise of reality?

Perhaps the latter is more accurate. Memories reinforce reality – the very memory itself is by definition the proof of a reality past, ergo, memories comprise of reality, or in other words, memories are records, representations of fragments of reality.

But what if one had memories that weren’t reality? For that matter, could one have memories that aren’t true? Should these ‘memories’ still be classified as memories, or make-belief?

Is it possible for some memories in particular to not be records of reality, but rather a manifestation, or representation of one’s desired or idyllic reality? But therein lies a moot point – a reality as such would not be reality.

Nonetheless, could one’s denial of reality be so strong to alter or create ‘memories’? If so, then “memories compose reality” would be apt indeed.

Permit me to digress for a bit here:

In my driving history, I’ve had my fair share of accidents, mostly minor, and one major. When I crashed my car on May 31st 1999, those precious few seconds I was in the car felt like a lifetime to me.

I saw, felt, heard and can remember: the starkness of the headlights bouncing off the tar at the weird angle it was shining on the road, burning rubber from my tyres, the jarring noise of metal and glass crashing and twisting, a desperate need and instinctive desire to regain balance and control over my vehicle – not unlike feeling like you’re falling when you’re not; except this time, you really are.

But overwhelming all this was my thoughts, my racing mind. Cliched as it sounds, things were flashing in front of me, in my mind. My parents. My then significant other. My sisters. My life. My memories. Thoughts of death.

It was utterly frightful and morbid. But at the same time, calming and transcendental.

After the final crash, which left me hanging upside-down in my upturned car in a ditch on the side of the road, I remember feeling the most rejoiceful feeling I’d ever felt. Just for an instant, a micro-second. Then my head, thoughts and being returned to reality. I tried moving my body to feel for broken bones. I felt fine. No serious pain, just really shaken up and a little winded. I smelt gasoline and freaked. Boy did I freak. Undoing my seat belt, which landed my head first on the roof of my car, I then tried to open my door, which didn’t budge. Crossing over to the front passenger seat, I opened the car with crazy desperation, got out and ran. And ran. And ran.

Let me tell you this: having experienced that rejoiceful feeling just seconds before, nothing could feel more worse, more anti-climatic, more depressing than the guilt, fear and remorse I felt then as I ran.

Now back to the point at hand: in the immediate aftermath of my crash, I remember remembering and relating about trying to avoid a cat, or something on the road, which resulted in my crash. In hindsight, it is clear that it was just an evasive, defensive reaction to my own carelessness, my own recklessness. But at that time, I was utterly convinced that it was true. I SAW something on that road and was trying to avoid it.

At that time, my memories composed reality. But today, that same memory is negated by reality. So I suppose memories and reality are linear in nature. Unless you’re a complete nutter. Or an escapist (not talking about Houdini, think more along the lines of Walter Mitty).