The Memories Won’t Let Me Go

Real-Talk About Trauma

Thoughts about everyday life with complex PTSD from a girl trying to figure shit out. Let’s get real about trauma healing: a series

It was just over a week ago and it took me all morning to figure out why I had been struggling more than usual with emotions/flashbacks of my childhood abuse.

It was the 25 year anniversary of the climax of it all. 25 years since my perception of everything changed. It was 1995, I was 15 years old.

I found out my dad was a sworn witness to testify against me in court. His deposition with the defense called me a liar, a story teller, and confused – but he never got the chance.

It has been 25 years since my grandfather killed himself rather than face me in court. One single bullet the morning of the second day of court. I still can’t tell you exactly how I feel about all of that.

It has been over two decades since it was ingrained in me that there is no justice for the abuses I have suffered, no closure, and no accountability for my pain.

25 years later, I can still feel his hands on my young body sometimes; his mouth, his breath.

It’s enough to make me want to climb out of my skin.

It is not my burden to carry – yet the memories will not let me go.

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