I can’t remember shit. People, places, phone numbers, faces, names, historical facts, song lyrics, what I ate last night. Not a damn thing.
I often feel like crap when someone comes up to me in an excited frenzy about running into me cause they haven’t seen me in so long, but I can’t/don’t match their energy because I have no idea who they are.
Sometimes I fake it. I pretend like I’ve just caught up with my long lost best friend — but my eyes never lie. As I’m jumping for joy with you, my eyes are still trying to process your face, remember our history together, or to simply remember your name. I never do. I’m sorry.
Something happened to me after experiencing numerous accounts of traumatic events. I lost my memory. Some days, I’m able to recollect the specifics of a childhood memory, or recount the details of a television show I watched last night. Other days, I have zero recollection of meeting someone that I was just introduced to and partied with last week.
Not remembering people makes me look like an asshole. I know it must come off to people that have vivid memories of our relationship that I’ve gained a new snootiness since adulthood. That’s not it at all. I really can’t remember anything. It’s not limited to people. It’s events, places, directions, dates, whatever.
I have entire black spots in my memory that I’ve been trying desperately to recover.
I never recover those memories. Those black spots have made a home in my head, and I’m terrified that I’ll never remember. I’m terrified that it will only get worse as time goes on. I’m terrified that one day, I’ll forget the people that mean the most to me.
Sorry I forgot who you are. Sorry I can’t remember your name, or about the time we spent an entire summer hanging out during track and field, or about that time I gave you a ride to school. I promise I’m not being fake.
I’m just fighting through trauma to regain my memory.
2017.12.07
Of Magic and Madnes. KV Thomson.
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