#memory repression

[unwelcome-ozian]

“Memory repression thrives in shame, secrecy, and shock. The shame and degradation experienced during sexual assault is profound, especially for children who have no concept of what is happening to them or why. Sexual abuse is so bizarre and horrible that the frightened child feels compelled to bury the event deep inside his or her mind.” ― Renee Fredrickson, Repressed Memories: A Journey to Recovery from Sexual Abuse

[wizardofarles]

Blood Relations

I’m the evil one aren’t I?

Holding the knife behind my back

The sharp edge of suspicion glinting

Like a threat

Is it the knife which poisons my heart?

It’s a disgusting thought—a vile, stomach-turning thought

But there’s something vile here

I’ve always known, even if I can’t remember the shape of it

Can’t I just let it go? Relax my fingers

Accept that I’m mistaken

Let the knife clatter to the floor?

I didn’t put the vile thing here

How could I have? I was only a child

It’s in your voice, your eyes, your hands

It clings to your skin like cologne

And crawls beneath my own, infecting my blood

The knife is in my hand

If I never use it

Was it ever here at all?

The knife is in my hand

I can’t use it. I can’t let it go.

The knife is in my hand.

[copperkudzueye]

‘Memories r stinky’

A short comic by me based on a conversation I had with a friend about trying to remember our childhood or even things from a week ago. I made it in Like 10 minutes so thats why it’s kinda scribbly

But I also just like my art scribbly

[gottawhump]

Night Thoughts

932

CW/TW: conditioned headache, memory repression. Pet whump, lady whump, BBU/WRU, but not a whumpy piece. (I don’t think). Is it comfort? Is it angst? I do not know. But it’s after this.

Agony splits her head here, and won’t go away. She lays quietly in the dark, eyes closed, listening to Jonas prowl. Maybe soon Bagel will come out of his carrier and purr her headache down to something bearable. She’s not hopeful, though, since she can hear him growling in his carrier.

SHe’s thirsty, but it’s their first night in a new safehouse, and she doesn’t know the rules. “Help yourself to anything” is too much an open invitation not to be a trap.

She tenses when her bed dips from the weight of a body sitting on it. But it’s only Jonas. She sits up, and he hands her a water bottle and a pair of white tablets.

She takes the water bottle. It’s cold and sweating in her hand, the cap unbroken. She twists and opens it, taking a drink, before accepting and swallowing the tablets, trusting what Jonas’ gives her. She washes them down, before speaking.

“We’re going to leave soon, aren’t we?”

He answers in the same almost inaudible whisper. “Do you want to? That person-Moth-knows you.”

“They think they do. I-I don’t remember.” The clean cold pierce of a needle going in, white walls bathed in endless white light, I made a mistake, I changed my mind, please! She moans as the receding headache spikes like a knife behind her eyes. When it ebbs a little, she says, “You want to stay.”

“I’m tired.”

She pats the other half of the foldout bed. “Then sleep.”

She knows he won’t, even before he shakes his head. Jonas doesn’t allow himself to sleep much, or often, and especially not in a new place.

“Can you sleep?”

“I’ll try.” She closes her eyes again, letting the darkness wash over her. She feels him get up and start circling the apartment again.

Sleep doesn’t truly come until she feels the familiar weight of a cat jumping onto the bed. He’s tentative, he stops to sniff her face and hair, before he curls up next to her. She reaches out to pet him, stroking him to purring and herself to sleep.

Just before she tips all the way into dreams, she realizes she still hears Bagel’s low growl.

Taglist: @canniboylism @simplygrimly @justplainwhump @painful-pooch @whumpinggrounds

[cowboystokes]

tw // trauma

i feel like repressed memories resurfacing years after the trauma isn’t talked about enough,,

there was nearly 10 years between the trauma and when i “found out” and it ruined my life when i did

if ur only just finding out about trauma that happened years beforehand i love u and ur so strong

[dissociated-identity]

Does anyone else look back on their life and realise they don't remember like 60% of it? Because me too.

[justemotionalabusesurvivorthings]

I know what they did to me was real but it went on for so long my brain had developed hard ass dissociative disorders and so now when I try to talk about it I can’t because I can’t remember ANYTHING anymore and I hate it because the AFFECTS are still there and I just want to forget completely or nothing at all

I’m so sorry that’s happening to you. That’s a really hard thing to deal with. I dealt with that for a long time and what I found dealing with it was to start small. First decide what triggered the memory. Then you gotta catch the fear response. Basically that means identifying when you become afraid (it’ll be pretty instantaneous at first) and trying to calm down, ground yourself, and know that you’re safe. by doing that you can slow down the forgetting process. Overtime you’ll be able to self sooth enough for the memories to play out but it takes a bit. And if its just talking about it thats hard then right it down, make notes for yourself to remind you of what you where sharing. I am really sorry that you’re going through this and wih you the best of luck. I’ll be praying for you.

[mylilstormcloud]

Grey Fish

In my mind there is a pool

Of depth unknown

And edges obscure

The water is clear at the surface

Dark and forboding down beneath

Throughout my life

As people come

And people go

They each drop fish in to the pool

Some drop many

Some drop few

Each one a different size

A different shape

And in so many colors

Some stay near the top

I've even chosen Favorites

Through the years so many have been added

Some i don't seem to recall

Uncertain of just how many really lurk,

Down within the darkest depths

Happily forgotten

Now and then there peaks a motion

Movement far beneeth

Was that a flash of color?

Is something coming up?

Sometimes it stops

And goes back to the depths

Sometimes it does not

Coming up from the darkest depths it slowly rises

Through the swarms of Favorites and Beloved

Sometimes even launching up through the water,

Knocking me back,

Off of my feet

Until i am confronted

With a fish i did not want

With greying scales,

It's colors gone

Eyes cold like death,

It stares up at me,

Begging me to remember

I can beg and plead

And scream and cry

But that fish will not return to the depths

And now it swims amongst my Favorites

Making me look at them in fear

Afraid of when the Grey Fish will swim by

Day by day now, more come up from the depths

And my pool seems filled with so many Grey Fish

Yet i know they were there

All along

Whether i wanted them to be

Whether i wanted to remember

They were there

And i lived on

And so i must learn to play

With Favorites and Adored

Knowing that the Grey Fish may come

Remembering that they were there

All along

But they are separate fish

And i live on

The pool is deep

And i live on