I’m swirling around in a frothy, annoying blender of doubt and frustration. That was beautiful wasn’t it?
I simply cannot believe myself. I cannot believe the images I see and I am utterly terrified that these are just products of my imagination. My imagination is pretty awesome 😉 so I can’t put that possibility aside.
It’s kind of killing me to be filled with so much doubt and so many questions about the images that flash in my mind. I’m not being dramatic…it actually feels like I’m dying a little, piece by piece because no matter what…no matter what I’m doing…I never really rest because this is eating at me.
I’m really tired of this never-ending doubt. I just need answers.
This is where the title of today’s post comes from. Without knowing it, I kind of built a stash of verified memories in the space I keep for my younger parts. It wasn’t until I found the latest part of the stash that I realized I was doing it.
I thought that I was just trying to regain pieces from my childhood that were important to me; items that meant something special to me especially because they were from the time I lived with my grandmother. Now I’m wondering if I was building this verification all along as an unconscious goal.
You have to understand the effort that I put into finding these pieces to understand what I mean.
There are certain items, toys, that you could say haunted me. They don’t have negative connotations, they just stayed with me for some reason and those feelings got much stronger after I started therapy this time.
I was absolutely consumed with needing to find these pieces. I had to have them. And with each piece I breathed a little easier, like I had found a piece of myself that I needed. (I’m putting pictures of the pieces I have found).
This car is pretty much awesome. It’s from Asia and it’s battery-operated. The car has two figures, a man who drives and a woman with a flash camera. The car drives itself while the man steers and as he drives the woman turns and “takes pictures”. The flash actually goes off and when the car meets an obstacle it backs up and turns around. Awesome right?
I remembered this car and after I started therapy for abuse I had to find it. I had to. But I had no information other than what I remembered from childhood. I had no brand name. No country of origin. Nothing except the image of the man driving, the woman taking pictures and the smell of the car.
I looked everywhere online and found nothing for a long time. Then after more searching I found a brand name and went to Ebay where I found the car for $27.00 lol I was so happy when I got it! I put a battery in it and it ran! I turned it on once and then stored it in my little stash section in my bathroom. One piece found.
The most important piece is the one I just found. I don’t know why I needed to find it but I did.
I HAD to find this!
I had nothing to go on except the memory of the cover: children that looked like they were drawn in chalk, holding hands. And that the records came with red covers, blue covers and black covers.
That’s all I had.
Guys, I searched at least a year for this? I couldn’t find it. I went to antique stores and looked through all their records. Nothing. It drove me crazy. I had to find it. One day I sat down and for hours? I searched through over a thousand children’s records on Ebay. I went by sight, looking for the cover in my memory.
The moment I saw it I knew and I was elated because it existed. It was real and I had remembered it correctly. The only difference between my memory and the reality was that in my mind the ring of children was closer to the edge of the record cover. That didn’t matter as it validated that you can remember the important details even if memory isn’t 100% perfect recall.
I bought the record immediately and it joined my collection.
Every time I see my stash of toys I think: I can remember.
I can remember my childhood. I remember.
Why can’t I accept the other images I see? What makes them different?
I’m so scared that I’m just crazy. I’m terrified of it. I’m scared that the hallway isn’t real. The room isn’t real. Being on the floor isn’t real. I’m so scared.
I had a dream recently where I was with my grandmother. We were in a room or something and we came to the end of it where there was either a wall or something stopping us from going forward. In the dream I knew that I was trying to remember what my uncle did to me. My grandmother looked at me. She was almost like a dream guide. In the dream I tried to remember and the me in my dream lost consciousness, falling to the floor. We couldn’t get past that wall.
I’ve had other dreams that show my doubts and my hopes. Dreams where the ultimate question is answered: did I go to his house? The answer to that question is the key to everything.
In my other dreams the answer has been no, the answer has been yes, the answer has been unsure. And each time the me in my dreams is absolutely destroyed by a “no” and overwhelmed by a “yes”. Each answer causes the me in my dreams to collapse into tears but it’s a difference of whether they are tears of relief or tears of absolute agony.
The relief comes from “yes” because it means I didn’t make it up.
The agony comes from “no” because it destroys everything I like to believe about myself. The core being that I am not a liar.
This has to end. I can’t keep going on like this. It’s a kind of torture if that makes sense. I just need to know either way but I’m worried that the fear of being a liar is keeping me from the truth, if the truth is “no”.