I have a selective memory.
Of that, I have no doubt.

There are certain memories that stand out and will never be forgotten.   There are some memories that change with age.  But, when encountered with something that causes a lot of stress or a ‘life changing’ situation, I tend to gently bury it in the back of my mind with cement and run it over with a Zamboni until smooth.

That’s what makes anniversaries such a big deal for me.  An anniversary is like a mental landscape tombstone.  It’s something I can use as a reference and, without the marker, wouldn’t acknowledge it existed.  That’s what the Bartholomew County fair is —  It’s an anniversary of something buried.

The Bartholomew County Fair every year, like clockwork, just after the 4th of July.  As a child, it was a place of fun… or mostly fun when your dad has a tight grip on the wallet.  As a teenager, the fair was a place that my friends and I would visit a couple of times to enter contests, eat snow cones, elephant ears, and pick up a helium balloon or two.  Yes… okay… I never sucked helium, but it was grade A funny to watch my friends do so.  Like the designated driver… or walker in this case… it was my duty to make sure they didn’t do anything overly stupid.  After all, the police has a booth.  It’d be a quick trip to jail if they where overly crazy.

(–  Do fairs have helium balloons any more?  I could easily see sucking helium becoming an epidemic during this overly cautious day and age. )

For the past 15 or so years, I wasn’t in Bartholomew.   Rather, I was in Pinellas (FL) that really doesn’t have any local fairs.  And, if they did, I would have been too busy for the past six years to attend.  My first re-exposure to the Bartholomew fair was last year and last year I entered the Selah House.

You see, the fair tends to run on the week right after the 4th of July.  Okay, fine.  I returned to Indiana last year around May 11th – another anniversary.  I think I formally applied to the Selah House on July 8th.  I was accepted on the 9th.  I was living there by the 11th — which started 14 week of hell.

The fair – something children crave, parents fear, and provides teenagers (yet another) way to be vacuous – has become my tombstone for the forced-fed, mind numbing  Selah House experience.

A whole year, to the day, has pasted.   Wow.   This time last year, I had no idea what was laying in wait for me in Anderson.   Not one inkling of the ‘groups.’   Unknowing that I would be unable to enjoy sunshine or touch grass for three months.  Having a shadow follow me around everywhere.  Practically begging to get into locked bathrooms.   Having my reading material confiscated because it was ‘inappropriate.’

Unseasoned and foolishly thought I was in command of my own destiny, I was belittled in almost every way possible.

I guess you could say I was humbled.

—  But not and never again.

I won’t fool myself and say I’ll never become anorexic again.   That’s foolish.  I know the odds.  I know myself.  I know the relapse rate.

However, I will never be in that situation again.   Never ever.  For good or for ill.