Retelling of Abuse: Stream of Consciousness: Trigger Warning
I remember playing at my grandmother's house when I was a boy. I would be with my older brother and cousin. There was a tree out front of the house which was very unusual and easy to climb. It had unique pink flowers. The entrance to the basement was near there, so we would frequently play on the tree, then escape down there.
Trigger warning.
I remember one time being in the dark basement. It had thick slab stone layered walls, old poured concrete floor, and exposed hand-sawn boards overhead. I do not remember what led up to this but I remember my cousin sticking his tongue into my mouth forcefully and moving it around. My brother was there and I think he did it to me too.
This has been a strong reoccurring flashback. The short few sentences I wrote above I have never told because the story always seemed to be so large and detailed. I remember so much detail it's hard to describe. Like a Photoshop professional "colorizing" historic images from black and white. I can see every color, every brick, and my abuse.
Trigger warning.
I remember one time being in the dark basement. It had thick slab stone layered walls, old poured concrete floor, and exposed hand-sawn boards overhead. I do not remember what led up to this but I remember my cousin sticking his tongue into my mouth forcefully and moving it around. My brother was there and I think he did it to me too.
This has been a strong reoccurring flashback. The short few sentences I wrote above I have never told because the story always seemed to be so large and detailed. I remember so much detail it's hard to describe. Like a Photoshop professional "colorizing" historic images from black and white. I can see every color, every brick, and my abuse.