Unpacking a repressed traumatic experience I recently uncovered in my shadowy memories

I blocked out a certain traumatic experience from my childhood that apparently does fit the narrative I have been told. yet for some reason I keep forgetting about it until someone tasks me with digging deeper into the recesses of my mind to dig up the remaining trauma that they believe would explain my quirks. This happened to me last night. I nearly broke down into tears at the revelation but instead I found myself in a strange fog of self reflection.

I am not going to recount it here. It’s been unpacked according to the appropriate channels now I shall contemplate the ramifications of  said recollection internally. I do this as part of how I survive. Only a select few are privy to the worst parts of my past. Those details that cause me to cringe before breaking down into tears. I share them with only those I trust. This isn’t one of those. It’s different. Potentially life changing in it’s own way or nothing at all depending on your perspective. Either way it was a repressed memory and that’s the part I want to focus on rather than the event itself.

The first time I recalled this memory was when I was 11 years old. I remember lying in bed playing with one of my Transformers action figures and there it was out of the blue. A painful reminder of something I had apparently determined wasn’t worth keeping in my memory banks in an accessible form. I asked my mother about the incident and her reaction was odd. She told me it was nothing and to forget about it then promptly changed the subject.

I was fixated on a thought my psychologist told me. She indicated my PTSD might be cPTSD and wanted me to dig into my mind to find the hidden traumas I was tuning out. I told her I didn’t have any that I had forgotten only those I told her about or the ones I write about here from time to time. She insisted. I asked her if my quirks were trauma based, I said smugly with a hint of sarcasm and self confidence, then why was I in special ed in school starting in Kindergarten? She said there must have been something I was missing. She told me to find it and report back to her.

I was angrily relaying this conversation to my girlfriend with the intention of feeling belittled. I stated I was sure I didn’t have any further trauma to unpack. I insisted my bullying began at Kindergarten therefore it made no sense why the special education started then. Then like a ton of bricks falling on the head of Roger Rabbit, it came back to me mid sentence. There it was plain as day the thing I had forgotten, repressed even! She was right after all!

This reminded me of the exact same conversation I had with my previous therapist in college. Same deal my insisting I didn’t have any trauma, then bam mid sentence it rearing it’s ugly head out of the blue. It wasn’t the type of ordeal you’d expect a child to repress, at least not on the surface. However once I unpacked it I found the core issue buried deep under several layers of lies I had told myself to keep it buried. I had to confront the lies before I could dig any deeper.

I don’t want to hype my experience up it’s not the sort of deal  you take to the grave. Although I have those too. It’s more the type of thing I want to sort out in my own mind before I tackle it publicly for fear of the repercussions it might have on my image. That being said it could explain so much more of what I face than my other theories. In fact it might very well be the key to unlocking everything wrong with my broken psyche.

Today I sit here in denial yet again. Not that the experience happened not even that my mother trivialized it such, she tends to do that. But realizing how alone I was when I didn’t have to be. Here I had a perfectly good explanation all along yet they had to fabricate lies to “protect my feelings” when the truth would have likely been easier to swallow had I been given the choice. I have yet to bring it up to my mother out of fear it will further widen the rift growing between us. At least not until suck time I have confirmation from my therapist what she thinks my diagnosis should be. At that time I will consider whether or not it is worth asking my mom about. Considering how dismissive she was in the past I doubt she will consider being helpful this time either.

I am not sure if this qualifies as the life altering event I have been searching for in my memories but here it is, something unpleasant enough my brain thought it best to hide me from the knowledge of it in the first place. That alone tells me it was probably worse than my fuzzy memories let on.

Published by

Stephanie Bri

A transgender writer who also does podcasts and videos. If you like my writing please consider helping me survive. You can support me directly by giving money to my paypal: thetransformerscollector@yahoo.com. If you prefer CashApp my handle is @Stephaniebri22. Also feel free to donate to my Patreon. I know it's largely podcast-centric but every little bit helps. Find it by going to www.patreon.com/stephaniebri, Thank you.