One psychologist suggested I was repressing traumatic memories, maybe dissociating, and I wanted to believe him. It would explain how fake everything felt, how lonely and digital. How often I wanted to hurt somebody, just to see if either of us was real, just to move someone’s face around, just for the fucking thrill of it. But two other psychologists told me my childhood passed the smell test. There was no record of abuse in my file. It didn’t sound easy, they assured me, but it didn’t sound so bad. One therapist suggested that I couldn’t remember anything because I smoked too much pot.
