years of therapy to remember the missing years of my childhood. going over the horrid memories i did have, trying to find threads of good ones to weave into the tapestry. with one goal in mind – finding my childhood.
then the nightmares started. i told myself they were just dreams, nothing more. couldn’t convince myself. and when i thought i had a handle on it – flashback. then another. flashbacks of things i did not remember and now can’t get rid of.
don’t get me wrong, i have found pieces that aren’t devastating. those brief moments when my life was actually worthwhile. few and far between maybe, but they were there. true moments of happiness.
but those crumbs do nothing for removing the stench from the rest of the cake. putrid filth. memories that serve to do nothing but shred my insides. fill me with fear and anxiety. no – beyond fear. dread. or … i don’t think there’s a word for that level of … “fear” (for lack of better word)
so yet one more way i have destroyed my own existence. i just HAD to know. HAD to remember. HAD to understand why i react to things the way i do.
and now … now i get to wait for the final wave. three years yet that i have nothing. school, home, nothing. knowing some of what came before and more from what came after those years…
therapist told me once i’d remember those years like i have everything else — “when i’m able to handle it”.
i pray i never get there.
i never should have started this.