The body remembers

When I was a baby, I was raised by a nanny. Apparently, the nanny hit me, and made me eat my own vomit.

My therapist says that I may be suffering from the effects of such traumatic events. I have no recollection of the event whatsoever, just from stories, but the body remembers.

When I was in elementary school, I was not good at studying. I would get hit by a slipper, a clothes hanger or the other end of the belt. I loathed my brother for being smarter than me, never being hit.

My therapists said it can be considered abuse. My mind shrugs it off, but the body remembers.

When I was in high school, my friends seem to talk about me behind my back. Did they really want me to be part of the group? Why are they pushing me away? Why is it difficult to trust them? What is wrong with me?

My therapist says these are the effects of words constantly being drilled in my head. Words of “You will never be good enough”, and “You’re so fat.”

When I was in college, it was the first time I felt true happiness. I actually felt good enough. I belonged. It went on.

It went on as I started to work. I worked for two years. Would I even say it was work? I felt happy, and I never felt tired despite the physical burden. I never felt I worked a day in my life. I was still happy.

Then, my boss yells at me, and I completely shattered. I could not sleep. I could not eat. I could not breathe. For two years, I did not understand.

My therapist says it reminded me of my childhood. The screaming. The crying. The fear of being hit. For a few short years, my mind forgot, but the body remembered.

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