My relationship with the experience I had in September 2012 seems to be changing.
I don’t get the same feeling when I listen to music that used to remind me strongly of those memories.
I still remember everything but I feel I’ve either started to live past it, or I’m blocked from really engaging. The scars are there but they don’t feel as fresh any more.
I think writing about what happened to me in the form of a fiction story, being able to put that distance between myself and the memories by having a character go through something similar, seems to have helped.
It’s still difficult talking about the most horrific details I confirmed. I still tend to avoid certain things like songs or movies or whatever. It’s possible I just learned to bury it because I had no way to really face it. I don’t know.
It’s there. Jack’s life is there and it’s not going away. I haven’t so much healed as I’m just sort of learning to live with it, like learning to live with a serious wound that never properly heals.