Black Out – When Two Years Simply Vanish

Anyone who's had to experience a black out shakes their head vigorously.

Dark is the memory — completely gone, not hazy or vague. Just gone.

When did I have my first black out? Well, given the utter absence of real memory, I have to admit: I have no idea. Over time I simply noticed that people kept reminding me of a particular period during which I apparently participated in life — yet I can remember absolutely nothing about it. That realization alone is unsettling enough, but learning how long this black out actually lasted destroyed whatever hope remained. No chance I'll ever figure out what happened during those two dark years. Not even guesswork can help me here. Because, as the word itself implies, courage alone is not enough — you need at least some shadowy outline to work with. But there's nothing there. Absolutely nothing to fill that gap with, even a little.

For the past seventy-one years I've successfully suppressed this gap. Which is a fairly easy thing to do, since there's nothing there that actively resists being suppressed. Just darkness.

Now, the stories that were passed on to me were certainly interesting — and in some cases hovered right at the edge of embarrassing. Time and again I tried to at least reconstruct the unconsciously experienced in my imagination. But it was more nerve-wracking than illuminating.

"Wait — I did that?" was the question I asked most often of those who delivered these accounts.

What do you mean, I'm supposed to tell you about it? I simply CANNOT. I have no conscious memories whatsoever. What exactly do you expect from me? That I serve up second-hand rumours — sorry, I meant aromas — for the world to savour at leisure?

Forget it.

The whole thing is simply far too embarrassing. What will my friends and family think when I drag these somewhat alarming revelations into the public eye?

Yes, I'm all for openness. And I don't give embarrassment too much credit. There's no real suffering involved, after all. Just a mini-version in the form of embar-rassing. And nobody cares much about that.

Except me.

Alright, you're getting on my nerves with all your questions — but fine, I'll share a few anecdotes, though I'm not entirely sure they should be attributed to me at all.

During those pitch-black two years, I was apparently barely comprehensible at the outset. I apparently made sounds that bore no resemblance to any language. Just babbling — something nobody could make heads or tails of.

I don't remember.

Then, apparently with great enthusiasm and regularity, I soiled myself. Good lord. I apparently showed not the slightest indication that nature was calling. Just unabashed, unconditional release of inner contents — with no resistance whatsoever.

At some point during those two years, I apparently became somewhat more comprehensible. Not in character, mind you, but in the correct application of the German language. Or so I'm told.

And that was the approaching end of that dreadful dark period without so much as a scrap of memory.

Right. It's out now. I'm genuinely relieved to have this weight lifted from my shoulders. It felt good to talk about it. Or write about it.

After countless hours of research into cases similar to mine, the results were sobering. But the conclusion made my own black-out situation somewhat more bearable. EVERY human being has had to endure such a dark period. For some it lasted longer, for others somewhat less. But the sheer drama of the experience makes it impossible for any of us to remember.

A black out like this is no great tragedy for infants. But the time afterwards is trying and frankly unsettling — when every single year, people come out of the woodwork to remind you of that period. That is, the time of birth and the darkness of forgetting that follows.

If that weren't already suffering enough, all of us — yes, you too — get congratulated every single year by friends, family, and often complete strangers on this momentous event.

What is wrong with humanity? That's what I ask myself, especially today on this 12th of March — the day I've been confronted with my black out every year since 1955.

Hmm.