Do You Remember When...?

I suffer from significant memory loss, about a decade of my life.

Unfortunately, this means that my entire education from seventh grade (thirteen years old) to high school graduation is completely missing. I remember bits and pieces, like very, very basic algebra equations that allow me to do math in my head that many people can't. However, things like books we studied in English class (except for The Scarlet Letter, but that's a long story), geometry, college algebra, and precalculus are missing. History, how our government works such as the roles of different branches of government and their duties, learning about finance and how the stock market works, social studies classes, geography (don't even ask me about state capital cities in the US, let alone around the world). 

I'm missing my two years at university, all the classes and studies I found so interesting like genetics, organic chemistry, basic archaeology, psychology, and more.

All I can remember well are the friends I made and my interactions with family. Social events and relationships have stuck in my memory. There is still a lot I cannot recall, but if someone jogs my memory, I can talk about it in detail. But once the conversation is over, it's gone again.

Because of this, I know the memories are still in my brain, locked away in my mind's attempt to protect me. Unfortunately, it didn't work well, because I remember my abuse. I remember the grooming that led up to the severely traumatic abuse. I remember my sister's abuse. And, happily, I remember so many wonderful memories with my mom, many of these with my sister, too.

The memory loss directly coincides with the beginning of the grooming. Grooming is abuse, so essentially, my memory loss begins with the onset of the abuse. The worst part of the memory loss is that it swallowed up my education—99% of everything I learned in that decade of my life is obliterated.

Photo by nenetus via freedigitalphotos.com

It's made many things in my life harder. Things most people think of as basic knowledge in life are missing for me. Sometimes it feels like I have a sixth-grade education, and that's it. I can't tell you how many times someone has said to me, "You don't know that? Everybody knows that." Even family.

This is why I began my literary project of reading the classics, and I enjoy this exploration of literature more than expected. Some of them I choose just to say I read them, like Moby-Dick. 

For many years, I didn't know why this happened. It wasn't until my mid-thirties that a therapist informed me it was due to my trauma—my brain trying to protect me from what happened. He said I might get the memories back as I heal, and I might not.

My sister is missing a year of her life, the time when the abuse was the most intense for her, though a different kind of abuse than what I received. I remember the things she doesn't, and I'm glad she doesn't remember them. However, her memories are coming back in horribly painful and shocking ways.

Neither of us has any contact with our abuser, which has helped with healing.

Earlier this week, I shared a short video on C-PTSD. One of the symptoms is memory loss. This is just one piece of why I believe my diagnosis, if recognized in the DSM (Diagnostic Statistical Manual), would be C-PTSD.

There is only one person in the world I would wish to suffer the way I do: the man whose actions cemented this suffering in my brain.