Forgotten

Therapy has been difficult and utterly exhausting as of late. It wasn't only the meds slowing down my mind, clouding it. A series of events happened between the summer of '08 to late spring of '09. That was the beginning.

I have had other abusers and trauma, but none like the Ex. I hid myself so completely that I began having trouble recalling memories at will. Any memories. There were mainly partial flashes of pieces that only sort of made sense.

It was the months leading up to meeting Steve that parts of me began to emerge again. But there were things I didn't want back. Pieces that even hidden had been cracked and torn apart. I fought my damnedest and in the end, I'm here now with mostly everything. Enough that it feels like a complete picture, story once more.

I never quite understood the full extent of the damage done so it was impossible to relay it to anyone else. I'm still afraid, daily. I take klonopin these days to hold myself together from and away from that fear than anything else that goes on in my mind.

My memories only tormented me to the point of breaking because of current fear. And while the that against me lessening drastically has helped significantly, I can't shake the feeling of helplessness. Of feeling like I'm falling and don't know when I'm going to land. Of the unknown and unknowable. Because where someone threatening could be and having no idea, is a daily horror for me.

I don't talk about the Ex for good reason.

But memories. That's what has been the issue this whole time. Not being able to get to important details. Forgetting some things entirely. My therapist and I stumbled upon something on Wednesday that I wish I could take the words back.

Some things are better left forgotten. It is something I thought was completely and thoroughly examined. From every angle. Every rationale. Understanding, acceptance, forgiveness, even pity.

It seems I missed something. And given what I talked about with fear being a catalyst to losing memories, I have to wonder when I forgot this piece.

At its very core, the reason why I believe there is something intrinsically wrong with me because it was put there. In words, actions, inaction, perception.

Screwed up shit to do to a 7 year old, though it only continued from there.

And I know my therapist well enough to know that he realizes we touched on something major so there's no letting this far. Not that he should. It does all interconnect in a sickening way.

That time of my life has been fragmented at best, even not long after. I honestly don't know if I want those pieces, if I want to remember. Some things are better left forgotten.