Before I was eight years old I didn’t like to remember much about my childhood.
It was my psychological way of dealing with the sexual abuse I suffered when I was so young. If I never thought about it than I could block it out.
There’s just one problem: I have an amazing memory.
I’m not just saying that to brag, but my brain is different when it comes to remembering things than other people’s. It’s like a photographic memory in the way that it takes pictures of the things I see, but I remember things I hear as well. I can recite entire conversations I’ve had with people, remember things they never remember telling me but my mind absorbed like a sponge. It’s always been this way with me, for as long as I can remember.
It’s a gift and a curse. I know it sounds like a good thing, because I can see snapshots of my notes in my head when I’m taking a test, remember the teacher’s exact words from the day they were teaching. Sure, it’s a very excellent, less morally-wrong way of cheating, because my brain naturally does it. I see a question on my test and automatically see the notes in my head. It’s a hard thing to turn off, which is why it’s a curse.
I had to will my brain to forget the abuse. Forget the room in which I found myself hating, forget the duct tape he’d use to adhere my wrists to bed, stuff a sock in my mouth. Forget the way he’d trace the lines of my face with a knife when I threatened to scream. Forget it, FORGET ALL OF IT.
But I couldn’t. Who could just block out a year of their life like that, especially with a memory that never let you forget anything. I begged, I pleaded with my brain to shut it out, to just bury it so far back into the crevices of my brain until I couldn’t even find the memories anymore.
And it worked. Sort of.
I could pretend nothing happened, could will myself to keep those thoughts out of my head, but they could just as easily slip back in. I could just as easily remember everything that happened down to the very last detail, the very last words that pedophile had ever uttered to me.
I wish I could forget, all the time I wish that. But then again I don’t. Maybe it’s better that I know, that I keep that hurt with me all the time, because in all honesty it’s made me the strong person I am today.
I don’t know. There are so many things in this life that aren’t worth remembering, but I remember anyway, because it’s who I am.
To me, everything is just so unforgettable.
1 comment
My memory works much the same way. I had to realize many can’t recall what I can see any event in my life from any age…it’s bizarre. Who wants to remember events that were less than stellar.
What has helped me is re-framing the event in my head. As a child one does not have the coping skills to deal with trauma so it gets buried and locked up….survival mechanism right. It’s a positive intention we all have to survive, we interpret it as a negative cause it holds us back in our lives as we will do anything to avoid something that may present itself as a repeat of pain experienced.
I’ve done what’s called time-line therapy and it’s helped me release a lot surrounding my childhood. Around trauma, we have negative emotion or create a limited belief within ourselves. If the memory of an event comes up, remember that part of you is still responding to the event at the age you experienced it. That’s why we sometimes say about many adults..’oh they’ll never grow up’, because they still respond to situations as though they were a kid…it’s interesting. You may consider looking for someone who does time-line therapy if it’s something you want to resolve. The process allows you to look at the event with updated understanding of what was actually going on and re-establish the relationship you had w/ the event so that you only take away the positive learnings, and lessons that were always intended for you to gain. Cheers!