“Your kind’s memories are tricky things,” she said finally. “They are like oil paintings. Even the first draft is an impression, an imperfect recreation of the event itself. Yet each time you access those memories, you paint a new layer overtop the old, adding small changes and tweaks. Those alterations grow and compound on themselves over time until the current painting almost doesn’t resemble the original.” She peered at him, her eyes burning. “However, the original painting still exists under all of those layers of self-deceit.
CBT does somthing similar when we reprocess past traumatic events.
