The Memory Room

I find myself in the Memory Room again, but it wasn't on purpose. It's a space my brain constructs when the world around me gets quiet. This room can't be decorated, it's a place my mind makes for me. As I walk into the room, the air feels heavy, like just before tears. A red orb glows on the wall, casting a dull light. This is the amygdala, the brain's alarm system that processes threats and fear. It never forgets the feelings of humiliation. I can hear distorted laughter echoing through the walls, middle school hallways, a locker slamming shut, a whisper, and a silence so loud it makes me cry.

I move deeper and I'm in a hallway where time is weird. Clocks melt and photos curl up. One flickers, my grandmother holding my hand in a hospital room, then her empty chair at Christmas. This is the hippocampus, the region that stores memories and connects them to emotions. Trauma has warped it, so painful moments feel like they're happening now. Sometimes these memories play without my consent.

Upstairs in the organized but cold attic, file cabinets line the walls, labeled "You're overreacting" and "Don't be so sensitive". This is the prefrontal cortex, the brain's logic and control center. It tries to make sense of emotions and suppress them, even when it hurts to do so.

I've started visiting this room on purpose. I've started naming the spaces, tracing the circuits and understanding how trauma is wired into me. I'm not trying to erase the memories, they're meaningful, but to navigate them. This is the beginning of a never ending healing process. This is the self growth I've made over the years.

Today for the first time I notice a switch by the door. I reach for it and the lights flicker and then stay on. The room is still full of pain, fear and pieces of myself but now it's lit. And I finally get it.