I've read articles, blogs, books that provide insight for people like me. Their prescription is simple: there's no need to remember, seek the help you need, and just go on with your life. How can you do that? How can I be helped when all I have are a few fuzzy details?
They also say that minds like mine have blocked it out for a reason. (I should qualify that by saying if something did happen. I'm still on the fence, because on the one hand, if I can't remember, did it really happen? But on the flipside, I can't say I'd want the stigma of anything like this attached to me, so I couldn't have imagined it). They say that forcing yourself to remember horrible, heinous acts like being violated as a child isn't a good idea. That a potential floodgate of memories will only hurt you even more. Because you're not ready to remember or to deal with the memories. Really? There's a saying in Sanskrit: satyamev jayate, which means "the truth alone will prevail". So why shouldn't I seek the truth? Especially when this has all caused such problems for me in my life.
I had horrible dreams as a kid. Sometimes one of them still pops up when I'm least expecting it. In one of them, I would be in a world that was a hundred times larger than it normally was. Or was it me that was just smaller? Everyone and everything seemed to tower over me. The audio in that dream was so loud, that it felt as though my eardrums would burst. In my dream, I was so frightened, so scared, even of people that I have no reason to be scared of like my sister, my mother, my grandparents, who I always felt safe with. The dream would carry on though, as painful as it was, where I felt such a heaviness by everyone's shadow, that I felt like I couldn't breathe. That it would cover me so much, that I'd eventually die. My only solace was trying to get away. Sometimes I would, but most of the time, I'd be stuck in that one spot.
I had other dreams. I occasionally have this dream to this day, but I'm still a kid when I have it now. That I'd be in one situation or another. And I'd have to escape. The only way to escape was to concentrate on one little part of my gut, which would propel me so high into the sky, I'd leave whatever was troubling me on the ground. I have a fear of heights, which somehow manifested/manifests itself into my dream. I'd physically feel sick from being so high in the sky, but I'd concentrate, and go even higher. Voices of people would call out to me from the ground, they'd echo as high as I got, but I never cared. It was all about getting away. I never got to a point in my dream where I'd land.
Sometimes, when I'd have these dreams, I'd be sick. Or I'd sweat. Sweat profusely. There would be times where I'd wake up, try to scream. I'd be crying, but nothing would come out of my mouth. Was that real? Or was that part of the dream too? I still don't know. I'd be so upset (I'm feeling a wave of emotion run through me as I type this), so distraught, that I'd try to call out for my mother through my panting, heavy breathing, and cries. But I couldn't. It was almost like I had no voice. No matter how hard I tried to scream out for my mother (she always knew how to comfort me when I was sick, or when I was having a bad dream), I couldn't emit any sound. And then I'd try to get up. And to my horror, it was almost as if the lower half of my body was completely paralyzed. I couldn't move. I couldn't escape.
I don't know how long that lasted. I just know that that was how I grew up. I remember telling my mother once about my legs. They took me to the doctor (I think I was nine or so). I remember her doing a check-up, asking me why I felt like that. I told her I didn't know. She did a thorough examination, and told my parents that there seemed to be nothing wrong with me physically. On the way home, my mother still seemed a bit perplexed, but did say that it all probably a bad dream, and that it would all go away. I think it was a few years before it did go away.
This is why I believe that something did happen. Why would I dream of these things? Why would small little pockets of memories (hands, smells, voices) still haunt me to this day? I can't even pinpoint when I had my first "memory". I was probably around 14 or so. Does the fact that I can't remember mean that I wanted something like this to happen and that my mind just made it up? I don't think so. I'd be a pretty fucked up person. I'm so confused. This is why I want to remember. I get worried that someone might make me remember something that didn't happen (all these problems with repressed memories and them being fake - I can't fathom someone looking at me thinking "phony"), or that no one will believe me. Isn't it better to know the truth? When will my truth prevail?
Satyamev jayate...satyamev jayate...satyamev jayate...