I spent the weekend with my Auntie C in Amsterdam.  We had a really, really good time.  It was great speaking Dutch, catching up with an old friend, seeing museums, spending time with my Auntie, breathing the atmosphere.  I love Amsterdam.

I was thinking that it’s funny how memory works.  I remembered every street name but not all the connections between them.  I remember how much I loved living there.  Yet when I was there, I wasn’t as happy, well and stable as memory suggests.  I had one big up, and one major down.  Between and around those, I made some excellent friends and had some great experiences.  On balance, I am so happy I went.  In memory, it was one of my happier years.  But I see that year through a rose-tinted monocle on the one side, and through a truthful eye on the other.  One of my friends described me as having been “unstable to the max” there, and it is one of the first times I really felt that I *did* have bipolar, that my diagnosis was something tangible.

Memory plays tricks.  Sometimes it’s nice to let it.


8 thoughts on “Amsterdam

  1. Sounds like you had a wonderful time. Memory is a beautiful thing. My mum once told me “your memory will allow you to forget with time”.

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