If it helps to know, you're not alone in your questioning. I'm kinda at the same place. Why do I feel like this because these memories came back? No one understands that. How can I hope that they will when I don't understand it myself?
I have found that talking about it helps. Which in and of itself is completely paradoxical because I don't want people to know. It's a comfort to be able to talk about it. I need the comfort to know and hear and feel accepted, cared for, loved, compassion. But at the same time don't want anyone's pity. Essentially, I don't want someone to like me because of this. I don't even know if that makes any sense.