I wish I could delete memories and feelings. Feelings are fed by memories. It is hard to move forward when memories are pulling you back.
As a child, I never imagined that my adult self would be sat writing memories of a little girl torn apart and broken by pain and fear. Yet here I am, sat on my sofa in my pyjamas, writing down the memories of my abuse ready for my next police interview.
I feel numb as I am sat replaying moments in my head over and over, to make sure that I don’t miss any detail.
The more I write down, the more interviews I have, the more I am remembering. Memories that I have kept locked away for so long that I didn’t know they existed. Not anymore though. Now they are starting to flood my mind.
Sometimes we carry things inside us that no one can see, not even ourselves. Those things hold us down like anchors. Sometimes they drown us.
One by one my memories of that horrible time called childhood are returning. Flooding my mind, they are holding me down like an anchor, drowning me.
I get bits of one memory and then bits of another. I have to make a list of the different bits of memories so that I can start to piece events together. I need to put them into some sort of order.
I feel sadness and pain as I read back over my list and realise that there are at least six different memories that I had locked away.
I feel scared because some of the things I am remembering are really bad. They are frightening me and I begin to understand why I blocked them out and locked them away for so long. However they have always been there. I just didn’t want to see them, to feel them.
They have always been there. They have been in my depression. They have been there every time I pick up a knife and take its blade to my skin. They are in my anxiety and in my PTSD.
I feel very alone as I sit here, writing each one down, knowing that no other person on this earth has the same memory as me. Well, except him, he does, but in his mind they are good memories. They do not anchor him down like they do me.
The worst part of holding in memories is not the pain. It is the loneliness. Memories need to be shared. Sometimes the pain and sadness needs to be shared.
I feel tired; the bad memories are tearing me apart. I don’t want to remember anymore. I am exhausted and I just want to sleep. Please can’t I just sleep and forget for a little while?
Sleep. Even sleep makes no difference. The nightmares come then; the memories that I don’t want to face in the day.
No matter how much I want to, I cannot forget now. The police need to know what happened. They need my memories, even the really awful ones that bring me guilt and shame.
I am sad as I think that maybe I need my memories too. Maybe I need my memories to finally be able to let go.
Maybe letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. Maybe letting go means remembering and talking. Maybe letting go means accepting and telling my story.
Tears dry, smiles fade, but memories last forever. Even the memories that have been locked away.
Maybe remembering will stop me sinking. Maybe remembering will stop me drowning.
Maybe remembering will finally release my anchor.
Thanks for reading.