trigger warnings: mentions of emotional abuse, sexual abuse, suicidal ideation, depression
This is mostly going to be a stream of consciousness post. I’m sorry about that. It’s just… I have to get these thoughts out of my head, particularly before I finish the really big post I’ve been planning for a few weeks.
i don’t remember most of my childhood. sure, I don’t have a very reliable memory anyways — i can’t remember what I ate for dinner a week ago, but I can remember what a then-crush wore to a dance about eight or nine years ago — but this seems fishy.
most of what i can remember is tied up in either really good, or really bad memories, like contacting an online suicide hotline when ‘my parents’ were arguing; or crying in the middle of the night listening to really bad, depressing music; or the moment when we first bought a laptop and brought it home and saw it magically work with the wireless internet; telling someone that touching my balls during tickle fights wasn’t okay; or that time i invited a friend over to my house and we played yu-gi-oh.
is that normal? i don’t know.
i mean, when i try to remember farther back, all I can think of is a particular family member’s massive cock, getting burned by a stove, wanting to jump off the roof of a large building, etc. i dunno, it at least seemed massive to my five or six year old self.
and again, is that normal, remembering mostly the amplitudes of my life, and having most of them suck?
i admit that i feel a bit depressed right now, a bit triggered. but this is a question i’ve asked myself a lot. see, every since the five-month-long series of abuse two years ago (ohmygoditsalmostbeentwofullyearssinceiescapedwhatthefuck) everything’s seemed suspect. memories have started popping back up, and i can look at them and say, this thing that happened, that was abusive or, this thing that happened, that was fucked up, like… why did my cousin try to show me porn, anyways?
i’m scared sometimes that i’m just making it up. like, maybe they were right about this of all things:
you’re just making it up
you’re just trying to imitate your friends
this is all just a ploy for sympathy
there’s nothing wrong with us, this is all on you
we lurve you, stop saying these things about us
and i don’t know, because there must be some sort of explanation for having such a fragmented memory, right? there are so many lows, and so little middles, that there has to be something skewing it, right?
some memory i’ve locked away that holds all the secrets to this?
or maybe a few months of abuse and a family member’s cock while we showered together are really the defining events of my life?
or maybe i’m just making it all up, the product of a fucking terrible imagination and a victim complex?
i don’t know