There are large gaps in my memory of my life before my suicide on June 6, 1994. There are things I have vague, hazy memories of but cannot remember what the haze pertains to. Lately I have been put myself into meditative trances in order to try to extract these memories. Some of these memories lead me to believe that there was more behind the reasons for my suicide than I am presently aware of. This sounds strange, but I am inclined to believe that through the trauma of my suicide and death, my memory of certain things was suppressed to spare me possibility of pain when I returned to my life.
My no means are my meditative trances, designed to invoke waking dreams from memories, a scientifically approved way to attain connections with memories. The memories may be distorted.
I remember a girl who used to hang around with my friends. Since my death experience, I have only had a vague memory of her. Just a face in the crowd that I recognized, nothing more. Yet, I always sensed that there was more to her than that, it just didn't come to me. Tonight, in my meditative trance, my mind shot to her and a flood of memories like pictures that were somehow related to her.
I saw myself sitting on the edge of her bed, looking up at her. I saw us sitting together in the front seat of a station wagon I do not remember owning, but I was in the driver's seat. Driving past a long row of clustered houses, like one finds in the centers of small towns in central Massachusetts. Then I remember telling my friend that I was in love with "D." Then I remembered kissing her, a lot, and some very kinky "distractions" that I can now remember very clearly. I remembered things getting out of control, we were into some very kinky stuff that I won't go into detail about, you pervert. Then I remembered something very bad happened. It involved something criminal that I was inadvertently involved in, but would be implicated if found out.
There were memories of "D" earlier in my life, when we were teenagers, but the memories that came like a nightmare were of her and me years later. Whether or not it was a real set of memories that somehow were suppressed after my suicide or they were but a waking dream, I do not know.
I also wonder, on the more dangerous side, if it is somehow possible that I did die and pass on to this frame, a kind of alternate history where the tragic events of this newfound memory never happened, thus not requiring my suicide. This would make sense of the problem I have with understanding my self before my experience. All my movements and actions seem so acted out, emotionless, and yet this memory found today fills me with the memory of a very deeply emotional man.
That would be very fucked up, indeed.