Each one of us has a way of coping with traumatic events that happened in our lives. Some go to therapy, others give it a place and charge it to experience, there are those that consume by hate and end up bitter ruining their chances to start again and have a happy life. Some decide to simply forgive and forget. I’m okay with forgiveness, but forget? No chance.
How about the ones who caused the trauma? Do they forget? Or pretend it never happened. I call it selective amnesia. Sometimes I wonder how my ex can live with what everything he did not only to me but to our children. Whenever I speak to him (which is rare and only if it’s really, really necessary) it is clear to me that he thinks he never done something wrong. I ask myself which is worse, the fact that he seems to forget, or believing it was my entire fault, like he often said when we were still living together. It never ceases to amaze me how he managed to do that. Is the concept of conscience nothing but a myth? Which brings me to another concept, karma. If Karma is real, how come so many bad people are thriving? They will receive their punishment later on judgment day? C’mon…
Mind you, I am not lily-white. I have my share of wrong doings. I maybe didn’t start the fire, but I helped to feed the flame after years of watching it done by someone else and learning how to do it myself. The difference is I own up to my mistakes. I know what I did and I still feel guilty sometimes. If the concept of conscience is real, then I have an army of it riding on my shoulders, whispering every so often, pulling my hair and kicking my head if I refuse to listen. They hold the filthy demons at bay and keep me on the right track. I can’t say I like them that much. They keep me from having fun sometimes.
Now, let’s go back to forgetting… Do people really forget? Of course they do. Little mundane things like car keys, meetings, birthdays, answers to exams, paying bills etc. But big traumatic events like: (do I dare to mention them? Better not I guess) I don’t think so. I have no idea what others do with them/theirs but me, I never forget. I am what they say blessed (or cursed) with photographic memory. But then again, maybe not, because whenever I talk to my siblings they seem to remember more (and in details) than I do. Perhaps people remember on their own way. That’s why probably most have different recollection of the same events. Like with my son. I was shocked one day when he recalled the process of my divorce with his father totally different than how I experienced it. And mind you, not so much on my favour. I was inconsolable for days after the confrontation. Why I seem to learn lessons the hard way?
What about you? What do you do with nasty memories? Bury them alive and wait till they die a natural death? Toss them in the wind, out of sight out of mind? Or treasure them, feed them with bitterness and hate till they grow into a full pledge of revenge? Tell me.
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