Solitude Is Giving Me My Memories Back

I don’t think I realised how many memories I’d buried until now.

Not just repressed in a psychological sense—but buried out of survival, because I didn’t have anyone safe enough to process them with. Not back then. Not for 25 years.

Now, in this stillness—this regulated, quiet, gentle solitude—they’re surfacing.
And they’re not small.

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Memories With Edges

Some are from the psychiatric hospital.

Like the man who wanted to blow up the trams.
Who looked at me like I was filth.
Who tried to fight me, again and again.

And how I somehow stayed calm—not because I wasn’t in danger, but because I didn’t have the space to panic.
I told him he had beautiful eyes.

I’m starting to realise that moment wasn’t safe. That I was genuinely at risk, and no one really protected me. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before.

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Solitude as Medicine

The longer I spend in peace, especially in the morning, the more I remember.

I don’t want to play poker. I don’t want to distract.
I want to heal.
Not because it’s some project. Not because I want to be perfect. But because there are parts of myself that are finally ready to come back.

And I’m beginning to feel that the more of me I retrieve and reintegrate, the more capable I’ll be of holding space for others.
This is the therapist I’m becoming—not by textbook, but by truth.

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Things I’ve Never Had Space to Reflect On

Like in Spain—being strapped to a stretcher.
That whole period of my life is foggy. Not because I didn’t care. But because I couldn’t afford to remember.

There’s just so much. And I’m only now realising that this solitude is beautiful not because it’s quiet—but because it’s finally safe.

And I’ve never really had that before.

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A Future Relationship?

Sometimes I wonder if this would be easier with someone beside me.

If I were in a relationship—with someone truly safe, emotionally curious, and strong—maybe these memories would surface in a more shared, supported way.

But I’ve never had that before. My ex didn’t want to talk about these things.
She wasn’t curious. She just… couldn’t go there.

So for now, I’ll let this solitude continue doing its work.
Because this peace? This space?

It’s saving me.

One memory at a time.

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