Missing People

There is a woman who knows me.  We’ll just call her A.   A was friends with my sister when we were on the cult in Alaska.  A remembers me.  A can tell me stories about myself as a child.  I know A is correct because the stories are correct.  My sister remembers A.

but I don’t.

There could be a million dollars cash waiting for me to pick out A in a line of photos, and I would leave the room empty handed and broke.  I have absolutely no memory of her.

It’s like an itch that won’t go away.  It’s disappointing and frustrating.  It makes A sad, and I feel the same sadness, because everything in my being wants to remember her so badly.  I want to remember the nights A said she slept over in our cabin.  I rack my brain, just trying to get a glimpse of a memory of her.

How can this be? There are a few possibilities.

  • I witness a trauma happen to A.
  • A and I experienced a trauma together, and I blocked her from my memory.
  • My own trauma was so prevalent that A was simply a non-factor in the magnitude of things so I simply did not register her existence.

There’s those “aha!” moments we have; where we remember “OH! That’s where the car keys are!”  I need  a lot of those moments to arrive so that that these little puzzle pieces can get put into place.    I am ready to bring up the missing people.

Published by

Vennie Kocsis

Vennie Kocsis is the author of the best selling cult memoir, “Cult Child”, and is listed in Book Riot’s top 100 cult books. Visit her website to see her other publications and offerings.

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