There are moments of my past that I can’t remember. Things people in my life can tell me about in detail I can’t even vaguely recall the events.
I didn’t notice it right away. The missing moments, the things that seemed to makes sense to everyone except me. Eventually I realized that something was well missing. My friends would tell me about things we did or talked about and I would look at them like they were nuts because I had no idea what they were talking about.
The more I noticed this happening the more scared I became. I began to get into trouble for things I didn’t remember doing and when I was asked about it I would say it wasn’t me or I didn’t know how or why what ever happened happened and every time those were my responses I was a liar and just causing trouble.
I will never forget being a kid and coming home to my mom freaking out about someone starting a fire in our bathroom. She was so upset just yelling and crying as my sisters and I sat there saying it wasn’t us. Every one looked to me and begged me to tell the truth to tell them why I started the fire. No matter how much I said it wasn’t me no one believed me. So finally I made up some lame story where I was the culprit and the plan of action went into motion.
That night I went to bed with everyone in the house mad at me and scared of me yet again. The problem I was having was I couldn’t remember doing what they think I did. I had zero recollection of going into that bathroom and lighting anything on fire. I didn’t understand how I could do something like that and not have any memory of it. For the first time ever I was just as scared of me as my family was.
This wasn’t the only time this would happen as I grew up but it was the last time would deny something I couldn’t remember because taking the punishment for what ever awful thing I had done was way easier then telling anyone the truth.
“The monster does not live under my bed but inside my head”