Repressed Memories

I don’t know about you but every now an unpleasant memory rears it’s ugly head. Let me warn you now if you are the squeamish type now, stop reading. I know my blog has pink polka-dots in the background and for the most part it contains only beautiful thoughts and non offensive material, but this one is not for the delicate and I feel I must share this memory. The other day my 12 year old daughter was talking about toilets somewhere that were gross (you know, normal chatter from a 12 year old…. LOL) and it triggered a repressed memory. I say “repressed” because haven’t thought of this in over thirty years and just the memory itself shuttered my thoughts. I was a kid growing up in Southern California, now and then throughout my childhood, I would visit a camp for kids of some kind or a city park. One especially horrific memory I have was at a camp and several of us kids headed to the bathroom. The bathrooms at camps usually had the moist concrete floors, brick walls, and one small window without a pane. This bathroom was no different except that as we all ran to the multiple stalls you could hear the screams and shrieks of little girls. Needing to ‘go’ real bad, I did not gather at the stall they were all congregating around and proceeded to open a stall further down. Upon opening the door, I gasped and gagged as before me was a toilet that was full of you know what up to the rim. I ran to the next stall quickly to forget what I had just seen and when I opened the door and it was the same thing. I continued to open doors down the long line of stalls to sadly discover that almost every toilet was in the same horrific condition. It was like something in a nightmare. The kind of nightmare that keeps getting worse. What was even worse was the fact that some of the girls were ‘going” in the ones that were let’s say only 90% full. I have no memory of where I ‘went.’ All I know is that I did not ‘go’ there. I told my family this story and they had no recollection of ever having been a witness to anything like this. To me, it was a common thing to see at least one or two toilets at places like these. I have to wonder…where were the adults? As an adult now, I would be going to whomever was in charge and ask that it be taken care of. But, now that I am older, I can honestly say that I haven’t seen anything like this since my childhood (except maybe the little port-a-potties at fairs, and outdoor events, but even then, they have gotten much better at upkeep.  Maybe times have changed for the better in some ways. I never knew I had repressed memories. I thought that only happens to people when something tragic happens.  It seems obvious to me why I would repress a memory such as this. But now the only problem is that the memory is out of the bag and rears its ugly head every now and then along with the horrible feeling that goes along with it.. I will continue to ‘stuff’ this memory back down. At least it is not a harmful memory and for that I am grateful! This is one memory I want to keep repressed.

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