I’m sick of my memory. Hitting own my head in high school — this is where the self harm urges get stronger. Memories. Professor was trying to give me a compliment, saying she thought I write really well, and asked, “Why didn’t you ever take a creative writing course before?” I told her I’d been writing since I was a toddler (best form of communication), but that I’d taken a writing course in high school. She said “that doesn’t count,” and after that I got mad at myself. It does count to my brain. Because it was a 90 minute daily course and I remember every single minute of it like it was yesterday. I remember every lesson and I remember trying hard to not write certain things because Brandi was in that class. I remember her horrific horror pieces, Savannah’s shoes, Jessica’s piece about clocks, like they just read them to me. Hailey and Jodi and Rex. Molly, now Scottie. Who told me he was afraid to tell Brandi because Brandi acted really homophobic. Brandi and I were supposed to be dating at the time. She told me she was a virgin and I was disgusting. She said I didn’t count.
I hate how strong the memories are. They aren’t even traumatic and I’ll end up literally living in them for hours. Doctors claim it’s not curable. “Exceptional memory disorder.” But then if i forget anything, I freak out about that too. There is one day I can’t remember from that writing class. It’s a day i dissociated. No one knows where I went that day, but I was gone. Teacher could only say that I wasn’t moving properly.
I’m just thinking too hard at this point. I will go ahead and slow down and take a few deep breaths. That’s not even PTSD related. But the strong memories means that the versions of me don’t go away in my head the way they do for other people. Supposedly. I’ve never asked anyone, though. :0
Don’t read this next part, it’s odd. And not the normal scientist-oriented mind I am and was.
One day I tried to kill myself by jumping from a tall place. Very tall. But a weird place, so it probably was going to fail. I was fourteen. It was right before I went to a hospital to get rid of my dad. He was getting more and more violent. I couldn’t deal with it. And my mouse had just died from something I would later almost die from. So that’s still haunting me.
Long story short, I actually jumped but something happened. I didn’t make it to the bottom. I went deeper into the woods and felt weightless. Then I thought I heard the voice of g-d telling me he was sad. I freaked the f*ck out and assumed I lost my mind. I was afraid of those woods for years.
Weird things a doctor said about g-d and something a woman I knew said made it scarier. The woman didn’t know about this, and had lost an infant daughter who had my name and said I reminded her of her. She said something creepy about sensing it. Started keeping a distance. Started thinking I had schizophrenia and I was causing other people to have hallucinations. Told my mom I was afraid. She told me she was sorry. She felt sad that I was afraid. The word “sad” terrified me.
Felt better after being taught about Muhammad in college, though, haha. When he heard g-d, he was so terrified that he ran home and cried on his wife’s shoulder. He talked to his Christian cousin to make sure he hadn’t spoken to a demon. No, I’m not comparing myself to a religious figure. I think im done talking now.
I saw the spot I jumped from today and a certain song came on. Really triggered the thoughts and memories. Very triggery day.
