#trauma memories

[convexicalcrow]

False didn't want to know. She'd heard, of course, about the skulk. About Cub. About the skulk spreading all over his base. It brought back memories she didn't want to think about. Not- not memories about, well. Well, okay, maybe memories about Cub spreading skulk all over the place, but also - more so - well. Her, really. Her sister. Sister? God, she wasn't really sure what she was anymore.

But that was two worlds away, right? She was- she would be fine. Away from her.

-

In spite of herself, she went to Cub's base and perched high on the mountainside, looking at how far the skulk had spread. It was- horrifying, really. And no one was really stopping it, or feeling concerned about this. Was False the only one worried? Was she just overreacting? Yes, of course she was.

But-

-

Gingerly, she flew down closer, seeing the straight roads and the blue fire and the deathly silence the skulk brought, even when this wasn't the right biome. It just ate sound completely. Even the fires sounded soft, muted, as if they were actually fifty blocks away. It was weird. Especially given the building styles Cub had used for the rest of his base. Sure, you could argue that the dark skulk made the bright colours all the more vivid, but there wasn't any hint of a coherent style anywhere.

It just felt-

-

She left, of course. She didn't like how it felt, being so close to the skulk. She got back to her base, focused on the circles, the dark oak, just the-

She had to pause as she caught her reflection in the water, and saw- her. It startled her so much she threw her sword into the water, breaking the reflection. No. No, she wasn't- she can't be. Right?

-

The water felt- odd. Her briefcase felt weird. Oddly heavier than usual. A new river had appeared, perhaps? Maybe that was it. Yeah. Maybe she didn't see someone else's hands as she cut down more dark oak, placed down more copper, set the portal tower on fire as if some great calamity had-

-

The fire was what triggered it all. She fled into her starter house, hiding under the blankets like a frightened child. No. Nononono. Fire danced in her mind. She had thought she'd repressed all those. Blasted them out of her mind the same way she'd done to-

But all she could smell was burning. Hear explosions. See the carnage left behind in the wreckage of her tower. Underneath her base. All the people who'd died because of her. It was- no, she was responsible, she killed those people!

And yet, when she stared at her own hands, they dripped with blood. After all, who locked her in there in the first place?

-

False returned to the skulk. Sat on the edge. Reached out to touch it a little, feel the sticky veins clinging to her skin, as if hungry to devour her soul. She wasn't sure it would be any good for it, but perhaps that was beside the point.

-

"Hey False, you okay?"

She looked up to see Cub landing before her. She shrugged. "Oh, you know." She gestured helplessly.

"It's not the skulk is it? Bringing it all back, hey?" Cub said.

She shook her head. "No, no, not- well. Sort of. You know. Just- wasn't expecting all the skulk, that's all."

"Yeah, it is maybe an odd choice, but I dunno, I think it looks better than the grass here, don't you think?" Cub said, coming to sit beside her.

"Yeah, I guess so. Makes the colours pop, that kind of thing," she said.

"Yeah! You see it!" Cub said. "It makes them so bright, I love it!"

-

"Hey, Cub, do you ever think about the crossover? And what happened there?" False said, staring at the ground.

"Every now and then, sure. They were good times, good times," Cub said.

"Even though I saved you from the skulk?"

Cub shrugged. "I mde my peace with it. What about you, though? I heard there was some kind of imposter over there? Another False?"

False brought her knees up to her chest. She frowned. "It's complicated."

"Oh, was Scar right when he said it was a clone or something?"

"I mean..."

-

"Was it Area 77? Or before that?" Cub asked.

"I don't think I even remember anymore. But probably. I-I didn't mean to, like. She-she was just meant to be like-"

Cub rubbed her back softly. They were sitting on his bed in his starter house now, having needed to retreat from the night. False leaned against him, reaching for his hand. Cub linked their fingers together.

"I dunno why I find it so hard to talk to anyone other than you about this. It's not like you even really understand, but- I dunno. You were there, I guess. You saw what was going on there. You know. You get it," she said. "You know what it's like to be kept in the dark."

"Hm, maybe."

She was right back in Falsewell then. Cub - well, he looked different back then, but his energy had never changed. The two of them standing by the motel, trying to catch a glance of anything inside Area 77. Wondering.

-

She'd started crying as the fire returned. Cub offered to help. Maybe she held his hand tight as he used some of those Vex powers to make her forget. Maybe it didn't quite work, but maybe it was enough to dampen the flames.

She'd do it again, of course. If she ever came back, if she ever found her here, she'd do the same again. She had to. She was too dangerous.

There was no way she could get here, of course, there was no Grumbot, no Rift, no way to connect to that world, but-

-

"She's probably so lonely, isn't she? Stuck there on her own?" she murmured into the darkness. Cub's body was a heater that she needed right now.

"Maybe, maybe. You'd still leave her there, wouldn't you?"

She nodded.

"Well, there you go."

[unwelcome-ozian]

[dreamdropsystemarchive]

please.. stop it brain. it won't give us it all. just horrible flashbacks.. it's separated is so many alters

[healingpolyphony]

Gotta admit I’m really not a fan of the way our brain is revealing trauma memories rn, where it takes a memory that we have, and just goes “oh ya by the way, this was traumatic”

Partly because it sounds ridiculous. “If I have a memory of course I’d know whether it was inherently traumatic or not.” except here’s me, getting triggered by a song that we sung to our dad on his death bed in our head, and me going this memory isn’t traumatic but the things surrounding it are, typing this out to a friend and going hang on. What do I mean memory of child me with our dying father in hospital after we spent years trying to keep him alive isn’t traumatic

It sounds so fucking obvious but just typing it out made it click and it’s like oh!

And I KNOW that’s the dissociation dissociating. Doing its job. But holy fuck

[mildew-mop]

it is so fucked up to both have childhood memories and also being an adult with the correct words to describe those childhood memories. like… those things that happened??? bad. :/

i think sometimes people forget that being able to understand something in hindsight is different from how you understood it when it happened.

[thegeodesystem]

Having a wild time rn

Currently pondering how weird it is that I'm so detected from emotions.

I mostly feel blank all the time, which is probably an issue, but at the same time, it's so nice.

Like, I know I'm not as emotionally numb as M, cause a sign that M is getting close to front is that wave of just- an insane amount of emotional numbness.

So, my numbness almost feels like a non issue in comparison. Like.

I have emotions. I can tell what they are in the moment and mostly remember how I felt about something (excluding trauma bits or if someone further from me in the system web was fronting)

Idk

It's just weird to think about.

Like, I'm very familiar with one of Record's trauma memories. I sometimes tell it as a funny story, it absolutely does not bother me, but at the same time, I know it bothers Record deeply. If they talked about it, he would probably start having a panic attack.

It's just insane to me to conceptualize that WE ARE THE SAME PERSON!!! I am bothered about this! I would have a panic attack if I tried to describe the event!

That's wild!! Can hardly believe it

Dunno, guess that's on my mind today XD

-Alex

[phoenixontheoak]

Rumah yang Gelap dan Dingin

Aku hanya dua bersaudara, sepasang. Anak perempuan pertama dan anak laki-laki bungsu. Sejak kecil, adikku lebih diperhatikan dan dikhawatirkan karena ia memiliki kondisi fisik yang lebih lemah. Dulu, ketika ibuku hamil besar anak kedua, ia terjatuh terduduk karena terpeleset tumpahan pipisku. Watu itu dokter meminta kedua orang tuaku untuk bersiap bila anak yang dilahirkannya cacat. Entah cacat fisik atau mental. Puji Tuhan, adikku lahir dengan selamat dan tidak cacat fisik. Hanya saja, ia kemudian mengalami kejang demam.

Kondisi kejang demam yang imiliki oleh adikku ini yang membuat kedua orang tuaku, terutama ibuku sangat mengkhawatirkannya dan jauh lebih memperhatikan adikku. Bila aku dituntut untuk berprestasi, maka adikku diberi kelonggaran."Dia hidup dan tidak cacat saja sudah bersyukur. Dia tidak idiot saja, sudah harus disyukuri," begitu ucapan yang sering kudengar. Biasanya ketika aku protes kenapa aku merasa dituntut lebih banyak daripada adikku.

Iya, sejak kecil aku memang tukang bertanya dan protes. Apa saja aku tanyakan, dan berbagai aturan atau permintaan aku minta rasionalitasnya. Makanya kerap dibilang tukang protes. Aku adalah si anak yang selalu ingin tahu itu, sampai akhirnya rasa ingin tahuku dimatikan, seperti saklar lampu gudang yang hanya dinyalakan seperlunya saja.

Usiaku dan adikku hanya terpaut beberapa belas bulan saja, makanya kami cukup dekat saat kecil dulu. Kalau kata ibu, mengurus kami seperti mengurus anak kembar. Kami menjadi teman bermain yang kompak, di mana aku kepala geng dan tukang rusuh dan adikku adalah si pengikut. Kekompakan kami masih terasa sampai aku di usia SD, meskipun beberapa kali kami bertengkar juga. Layaknya saudara kandung di manapun. Hanya saja, yang kuanggap tidak fair adalah adikku suka mengadu pada kedua orang tua.Nah, di sini ada celah memori yangaku tidak bisa isi, apakah aku juga tukang mengadu? Sependek ingatanku, tidak.

Suatu hari, waktu itu aku sudah duduk di kelas 1 atau kelas 2 SMP (adikku masih di SD, karena aku terlalu cepat masuk sekolah), tiba-tiba listrik padam di area perumahan kami. Waktu itu akhir pekan, karena aku ingat ada bapak juga di ruang tengah tempat kami berkumpul. Waktu sudah sore hari dan keadaan semakin gelap. Entah apa yang sebenarnya terjadi, aku juga tidak terlalu mengingat sebabnya, tapi aku bertengkar mulut dengan adikku. Suara kami berdua meninggi. Mungkin saling ledek juga. Kami baru diam ketika orang tua sudah marah, aku tidak ingat persis siapa yang menghardik kami untuk diam.

Aku ingat aku duduk di kursi kayu dengan bantalan busa empuk yang bersandar pada tembok pembatas antara ruang keluarga dan ruang tamu. Aku ingat masih mengoceh-ngoceh karena sebal dengan adikku. Aku merasa disudutkan. Entah apa yang aku ucapkan, tapi tiba-tiba ibuku marah besarr dan kemudian mengangkat kakinya lalu meletakkan telapak kakinya di atas kepalaku. Dengan kata lain, ia menginjak kepalaku.

Aku terkejut luar biasa sampai tidak bisa berkata apa-apa. Aku pindah duduk di atas karpet di lantai, dan ibuku menduduki kursi yang sebelumnya kutempati. Saat itu juga ia memanggil adikku dan memangkunya sambil mengatakan ia sayang pada anak laki-laki semata wayangnya itu. Aku hanya bisa memandang dalam kegelapan ke arah mereka. Mataku menatap nanar, yang syukurnya tersembunyi oleh kegelapan yang pekat. Aku merasa sangat tidak berharga sekali. Aku merasa disisihkan. Aku merasa aku bukan anak mereka. Aku merasa seperti sampah.

Aku tahu ibuku mendapat ide dari mana sampai dia menginjakkan kakinya di kepalaku. Beberapa waktu sebelum itu, ibuku pernah bercerita kalau abangnya memperlakukan anaknya persis seperti itu. wakku ini tak segan menginjak kepala anaknya kalau ia tak suka dengan perilaku si anak. Sepertinya ibuku mendapatkan inspirasi yang cemerlang untuk menyalurkan emosinya.

Hari itu aku patah hati sehebat-hebatnya. Meski sebelumnya hanya menduga, di hari yang gelap dan dingin itu, aku mendapatkan konfirmasi bahwa rasa sayang ibuku hanya tumpah ruah pada adikku, anak laki-laki semata wayangnya ibu. Hari itu aku menanamkan ke dalam diriku bahwa aku tidak punya tempat di keluarga ini.Aku tidak punya rumah. Aku sendirian.

Hari itu aku menjadi pengelana, meski kedua kakiku dirantai sehingga aku tak mampu pergi ke mana-mana.

[unwelcome-ozian]

(POSSIBLE TW!!!!) Hello there Ozian, I'm 21 almost 22 year old fem and my programming is starting to break down, i get little flashes of memories, such as a few second flashback of a girl covered in blood or being penetrated with a finger. I had nightmares of SA throughout my teenage years and would go to bed normally while tucked inside only to wake up upside down on top of the bed. Why is my programming breaking down so early? Is this normal? Do autistic/ADHD ppl programming break down sooner?

I don’t know what your definition of programming is. 

Memories of abuse tend to surface when people are adults, in a safe place, away from their abuser(s) and there is stability in their lives.

Oz

[spiritualityloves247]

Shame???

[caintooth]

seeing people my age talk about how scared they are of memory loss, which they only associate with old age, is so surreal to see as a 24 year old who has actively experienced memory loss for a long time now

there are causes for memory loss besides dementia and alzheimer’s, i hope y’all know that. dissociative disorders, trauma, brain injuries, thyroid problems, even just stress and lack of sleep can fuck up your ability to store, process, and access memory. and that’s just a few of the many causes i can think of off the top of my head right now.

please stop treating disabled people like some scary “other” that you might become only in the distant, decades-away future. we are your age, too. you may become one of us sooner than you know. stop acting like memory loss marks the end of a life, when so many of us have so much living left to do!

[nonipunssif]

Can we talk about THIS Scenes from chapter 3?

"You look beautiful honey"

[crumbsinthesea]

"It wasn’t until about two years into the pandemic, when the “vax and relax” era was clearly not going to work, that I had to reckon with my system for organizing time. I couldn’t delay the future any longer; I couldn’t continue protecting the story of my life from the pandemic’s incursion. So I accepted the terrible fact that the pandemic was going to continue indefinitely and was not merely an event in my life but rather the container in which the rest of my life would take place. This was a difficult reckoning. It required that I come to terms with a great deal of grief about the failures of those around me; about what I lost and will have lost; a privilege in thinking that these were the sorts of world-historical changes that happened to other people, at other times. But it was also a reckoning that rescued the orderliness of time, for me. It was as if the clock was un-paused, and life resumed its forward march. I think most people stabilized their warped sense of time by other means. Instead of accepting that the pandemic continued on, that we failed to contain it and so would need to incorporate its ongoing reality into the stories we tell ourselves about our own lives, they instead transformed the fantasy of after into their reality. After the pandemic, after the lockdowns, after our world ruptured. They were able to interrupt the prolonged uncertainty that the pandemic had brought to all of our lives by erecting a finish line just in time for them to run through it. And as they ran through it, celebrating the fictional end of an arduous journey, they simultaneously invented a new before. This is the invention of memory. The Pandemic became something temporally contained, its crisp boundaries providing a psychic safeguard to any lingering anxieties around the vulnerability and interdependence of our bodies that only a virus could show us. No longer did it threaten to erupt in their everyday lives, forcing cancellations and illnesses and deaths. It was, officially, part of The Past. And from the safety of hindsight (even if only an illusion), people began telling and re-telling the story of The Pandemic in ways that strayed from how it all actually went down. It was a way to use memory as self-soothing."

--Emily Dupree, The invention of Memory

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thanks for listening to my sad backstory. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[deservedgrace]

I've been thinking about resurrection eggs today, those plastic eggs with items related to the crucifixion they give to kids around Easter, and thinking about how disturbing the whole thing is

Like, I think the whole concept of essentially celebrating human sacrifice is disturbing enough, but imo it's even more disturbing that we're told about the crucifixion as kids, that we're told about the torture and violence in detail, that we're told his suffering is our fault because we specifically are so evil and horrible and sinful that someone had to be tortured to death to make up for it, that we're told it should have been us up there, that we deserve suffering and violence and abuse and torture simply for existing... and probably other things I'm not thinking of right now, it's all just so sickening

But to do all that while trying to wrap it in a ‧˚₊*̥∗*‧˚₊*̥ uwu cute and innocent little interactive activity for kids uwu ‧˚₊*̥∗*‧˚₊*̥ where they physically have items like a mini spear that represents the one that pierced his side, a crown of thorns to represent the one he was forced to wear, nails to represent the ones that were used to hold him on the cross, leather cords to represent the whip he was beaten with, dice to represent casting lots for his clothes, cloth to represent the linen he was wrapped in after... i don't really have proper words for how disgusting it feels to me now. It's such a "look at what you've done, look at how you did it, look at what you personally contributed to by existing being sinful" while actively trying to make it more appealing to kids in the hopes that they'll internalize it better

Idk. The whole thing is just extremely repulsive to me. It's one thing to talk about the resurrection specifically, but I don't understand how so many people believe graphic depictions of torture and violence are totally fine for kids on its own even without all the other shit that comes with it

[feral-ballad]

Mohammed El-Kurd, from Rifqa; “Rifqa”

[Text ID: “I cried—not for the house / but for the memories I could have had inside it.”]

[mycptsdstory]

I have so many bad memories in Butlins. I would never want to visit because it just, triggers me so bad.

With my mother and the sperm donor, Butlins wasn't happy memories.