I’ve generally been a curious person. I just like learning things. Researching, asking questions, seeing how things work. There’s a satisfaction to be found in pulling apart the mess and trying to put it back together in a way that makes sense, even if it only makes sense to me.
But trauma doesn’t always come with answers, and there are some things I’ll never be able to make sense of. At least not fully.
What I’ll Never Get to Ask
There are questions I have, really big ones, about what happened to me as a child. About why certain things were done or allowed, about what the adults around me were thinking… or if they were thinking at all. I can’t ask them. I can’t hear their side. The people I would need to talk to for any kind of closure are no longer here.
And that’s been playing on my mind a lot lately.
The Pain Isn’t Just in the Memories
When you live with CPTSD, it’s not just the memories that hurt; it’s the gaps. The blank spaces where truth should be. The emotional landmines you step on without warning, because no one ever handed you a map.
CPTSD has a way of taking you back to those old questions. Not because you’re obsessed with the past, but because something deep in you still wants it to make sense. Still wants a clear cause and effect. Still wants justice. Or closure. Or at least a damn explanation.
A Version of Me I’ll Never Fully Know
There’s a version of me I will never fully understand because of this. A whole chapter of my life written in a language I don’t speak, with pages missing and no footnotes to explain the plot.
And that silence? It’s deafening.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to fill in those blanks: therapy, reading, digging, even guessing. But there’s a kind of ache that comes from realizing some answers will never come. Not in this lifetime.
What I can do is keep telling the truth I do have. I can name the pain, even when it’s fuzzy around the edges. I can honor the questions, even the ones that may never get answers.
And no, healing doesn’t mean I have to forgive everyone involved. That’s something I’ve wrestled with a lot, especially when the person who hurt me is longer here. I talk more about that in this post.
Maybe That’s Enough
That’s part of healing too.
Sometimes closure isn’t a neatly closed door; it’s learning to live with it half-open, knowing you did everything you could with what you had.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough, because at the end of the day sometimes it has to be.