I’m scared.

I look back at things I wrote years ago and don’t recognise myself in the words. Different time, different person, different brain. I’ve lost so much to these brain disorders that I no longer remember what I had to begin with. We say we’re formed by our experiences, but whom do you become when you can’t recall those experiences anymore? Who or what are you? Automaton? Zombie? Maladjusted manikin?

What do you do when you can’t live in the present because every moment is the same: utterly forgettable through no choice of your own? There is no sense of time; only the clock tells you the last moment you were conscious of was six hours ago. Everything else is dandelion fluff in a never-ending fog.

The bridges between mind and memory are burnt. Nothing makes it across, let alone through the fog, to long-term storage. Every would-be memory is a lemming walking blithely off a cliff to its death. I’m honestly shocked if I remember something at all, but even when I do it’s temporary.

I hate being this way. The world equates memory with intelligence, ergo I’m a hopeless, helpless moron. I can’t fix those bridges, and it’s just going to continue worsening.

How long before I forget my own name, I wonder?


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