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Out of Sight, Out of Mind

by Erin Montgomery 4 years ago in psychology
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Dirty Little Secret Continued

Map from Roswell to Arabella and Ruidoso

Nothing like being on a tight schedule. Two weeks ago, my husband, my friend and I had an agenda. Drive from Roswell to Arabella to drop off some music equipment, then on to Ruidoso by 1 PM to make sure we were in cell range for an important phone call. No problem. It’s 11:30 AM. Only an hour and a half to Ruidoso with just enough wiggle room for the detour to Arabella. Having made the trip countless times, we were confident that there wouldn’t be any problem.

The drive was uneventful. Pleasant talk about the day before where we went hiking to find one of the UFO crash sites in the area. We had an interesting experience with a strange cloud that perhaps wasn’t a cloud. We approached the turn off to Arabella and mentioned how close we were to that crash site from the day before.

“Hey, what time is it?”

“No fucking way.”


“It’s 12:30.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I know.”

“We are missing 30 minutes!”

“I know!”

“Wait, wait. What does everyone remember?”

“I don’t remember that big curve to be honest.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Nope, It’s not in my head either!”

“I remember up to the speed limit changing and then when you said ‘Picacho.’” My friend, driving, had said the name Picacho as we passed by the village sign. What happened to that missing 30 minutes? Why were we all missing a big chunk of the drive? This is mildly mountainous terrain. If we were driving on auto pilot, it’s a miracle we didn’t drive off the mountain!

Though I have heard of missing time, I hadn’t experienced before—not like this. Well, that one time in high school where I got home before I actually left—I guess extra time is like missing time…but for all three of us to recognize that something strange had just happened was significant. Missing time means suppressed memories. Suppressed memories I am more familiar with—I have been remembering small bits and pieces of experiences for the last twenty years.

The Beauty of the Human Mind

Strange cloud that approached us at one of the Crash sites near Roswell, NM

When these snapshots, images, short sequences start to emerge one starts to question sanity. “Am I going crazy?” “Was it something I ate?” Like pizza can really cause nightmares about alien abduction. “I really have to pay attention to what I watch before bed.” Did that weird scifi movie bring up convoluted dreams—or am I remembering something that has been repressed?

The human mind is an amazing machine. A thing of beauty. It will protect us from that which is too traumatizing to consciously remember. We file those memories away in a drawer marked “Only when we are really, really ready.” We may show signs of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), as described in my previous article, “Justified Paranoia,” such as startle reflex, irritability, nightmares, and strange thought patterns especially around feelings of fear, shame or guilt. But, these memories of a traumatic experience can stay buried for decades, sometimes never to come to light.

When memories start to surface, these logic machines (our brains) try to make sense of what we are recalling. But we certainly can’t make complete sense of these incomprehensible memories when these memories are dealing with something—well, alien. For example, one of the first memories I had return to consciousness was from the age of six or seven. I was in my mid-twenties when I suddenly remembered floating down the hallway, past my parents watching TV, I remember them watching Dallas though they deny ever watching it) and continuing out the front door to be taken to a ship by a woman in a white gown, rather angelic looking. There were three small beings (the typical grey alien type with large heads and big black eyes) around her. However, during my first hypnotic regression to recover what happened during that abduction, what I recalled was very different than what my conscious mind had molded it into.

In the regression it came to light that I didn’t actually float down the hall and out the door past my parents, oh no. What I was able to recall was three little beings standing at the foot of my bed. One touched my foot and I did start to float. I floated higher and higher and penetrated the ceiling, moving through the attic, out the roof and into the sky! I could feel my particles--my very atoms--slipping between the atoms of the wood and building materials around me. There was no angelic woman in white. But there was a female being who was with me, and who is with me every time I am taken. These beings are referred to as escorts often in UFO, contact, and abduction literature. It wasn’t until recently that I realized the recurring nightmare of being lifted to the ceiling and the feelings of menace have more to do with my mind trying to come to terms with my abductions than the assumption of ghosts I had at the time of the dreams.

Repressed Memories—Trauma or Induced?

Quick sketch of images from missing time on the way to Arabella

My current question is—how much of the repressed memories are from our own minds protecting us and how much is from the beings wanting to keep these experiences hidden from our everyday thoughts? Oh—and another question—why?

Back to that mystery drive to Arabella, as of yet I am the only one out of three that has been able to recall any of the missing time: I see about 20 beings stretched across the highway in front of us. Small grey type alien beings. Their skin looks like bruises—that mottled red, purple, blue, yellow, greenish hue we humans get when we have been injured. There is one being close to the ground. Same color, same large head with large eyes, but it looks oddly more like a tick. Flat and round with its head tilted up to see in front of it. Is it on a leash? Or am I making that up? I don’t know. Such is the nature of recall. I remember my friend cussing and putting on the brakes. I remember one of the beings waving at us to slow down, both hands in the air. I remember them coming up to the vehicle. I remember my husband calling out. I remember crying as I am helped out of the car. I remember someone comforting me as I tried to compose myself on the side of the road. But that’s it. No other info. Next thing I remember is my friend saying, “Picacho.”

Why does no one else remember? Maybe I just have an active imagination. And what if all those other partial memories, those snippets, those snapshots, those visions? Did I make those up? No, no I didn’t. I am not crazy. I am not making it up. It is happening to me. It is happening to my family, my friends, and many, many others. There are too many of us with similar experiences. Way too many to be a coincidence. All walks of life, all over the globe, people are having these experiences and it is time for us to band together, stand up, and declare our truths.

But, back on point—why does no one else remember? I wonder if it is because I have started to address the trauma of these experiences through hypnotic regression and counseling for PTSD. Is it because I have actively sought out healing that I am more easily capable of recall in these situations than the two who haven’t?

What's Next?

Condo similar to what I recalled in flashback

So what’s next? I will have another regression this weekend. But what do I focus on? This most recent experience of missing time? High strangeness when I was a teen? Or more memories from when I was small? I did have a recent flashback when my husband accidentally shone a light on me while I was sleeping. I woke up with a start—and clearly remembered being outside a condo my dad had brought me to during a softball tournament. I was surrounded by beings my height and we were all very excited to be reunited and were anticipating…something. But what?

My father told me a few years ago about that night, though I had no conscious memory of it. I was put to bed in a sleeping bag in the dining room as the whole time was staying in the same place. Dad said I got up and attempted to leave by the front door.

“What are you doing, Erin?”

“I have to go.”

“Go where?”

“I just have to go.”

“To the bathroom?’


“Well you need to go to bed,” he said and put me back to sleep. I believe this flashback is what happened later that night. I think I am ready to remember now.


About the author

Erin Montgomery

Erin Montgomery works as a counselor by day and works as a psychic, energy healer, and clears both places and people of spirits any time she can.

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