My dad abused me. Despite of his confession and subsequent jail term my sister is still in denial. I think that is what she as to do to go on. It's hard for people to admit it, or even remember it. I never repressed memories that I know of, so I don't know if they can be false. My instinct is you know, in your heart. Also, look at your life. I believe even without memories there are symptoms.
Canotia, hi. I'm sorry for your sufferings :( I think it's a really good sign, though, that you can say that beginning sentence straight out. I have trouble saying this. But substitute "brother" for "dad" and that's the truth. There you go. Much of the time, I can only talk around it. When possible... and ALWAYS to my family and people that I speak to, I refer only to my second, debilitating yet "socially acceptable" trauma (i.e., it doesn't involve family members or anyone that I feel the need to protect or keep quiet).
I repressed memories very solidly - all my life I had lots of nightmares, and they got worse and worse, and I started experiencing symptoms of PTSD before I remembered, believed (that was a big step for me, from remembering to believing), and finally I confirmed what had actually happened when I was such a little thing. I remembered about... it's hard to say, date-wise - my immediate family knew of this, but had done a pretty good job repressing the issue, too... but I first remembered very hazy details at about age 12.
I spent years thinking I was an evil person for "dreaming up" something horrible about a person I loved. Remembering and confirming what happened took me through my teens. But there were the nightmares, anxiety, depression (which I was prone to anyway, but it didn't help), and I had moved on to self-harm well before I was aware that abuse was in the picture.
I tell you this, maybe it will help you understand your sister. It is survival. Everyone experiences and remembers things differently. With repressed memories, it's kind of like playing a game of "Telephone" - is this memory accurate, or was it one of my recurring nightmares? How old was I? Where was I when this happened? Etc. Even the people who were older than 5 at the time...my immediate family..., had forgotten details before I began to remember them. My parents never knew the extent of the abuse - something that happened over the course of a couple of years, once I communicated to them what had happened, and they put a stop to it.. They thought it happened only once, and I think I was too young, I didn't understand and wasn't able to express more than the barest fact.
Everyone assumed I had forgotten. I HAD forgotten. I guess it didn't occur to anyone that I would remember later.
And all the way around to the OP... It was and still is very confusing, and difficult to know details, other than some very specific flashbacks that I now remember too well. I hope you are able to sort through these things, maybe with the help of a therapist or counselor. When I finally got a decent therapist, he helped me *immensely*, when I was filled with confusion and self-doubt, plus self-blame. For a while, while remembering more details, I got worse and worse, sicker and sicker with PTSD symptoms on top of what was later diagnosed as Bipolar type II....but in the end, it was a necessary process - for me personally - to get through before I started improving even a little bit. Everyone has a different story (even if they are technically similar) and a different way of processing this stuff. I think PTSD and related symptoms can occur when a person has experienced "something outside the normal bounds of human experience." PTSD doesn't always develop, but I think of that as the breeding ground.
And I will never stop wanting to know MORE of the truth. I don't know why, but it seems to be human nature to want to remember, no matter what... I have a kind of odd idea, - like if I know exactly what happened, I'll somehow understand and get better. But at a certain point, I've got to let this quest go. I try to accept that I remember enough to go through the process of therapy...and it will never make sense.
