When I first broke the silence to my brother (Who feels sorry for me and worries about me, but does not believe me.), I mentioned a book that had helped me. He practically jumped, turning to me and asking what I had gotten from it. He explained that many people who were not abused had been convinced by that book that they had been. (God help those of us with families full of counselors!)
I recall this because everyone in my family has tried to discredit my memory, searching for where they came from.
What they don't understand is that I did not seek help from books or therapists until the memories came.
First the memories surfaced.
But there is a lot of "mist," too.
In fact, the reason I sought therapy was not to recover FROM memories as much as just to recover more memories.
I wanted to be hypnotized or something so I could bring it all back. I thought only then could I be sure. Only then could I face this stuff head on.
With one particular memory, I long to know what happened next.
I still don't know. But it doesn't matter anymore.
I have learned to trust my memory. The memories are true.
I have also learned to trust my "forgettery." What my soul will not reveal to me, I do not need to see (Even when I think I want to.)
Looking at this response, can you see where my name came from. That's where I was when I joined this community.
I should probably change my name now, though, to "learning2live."