Sunday, September 21, 2014

SoC: Memory and Why I Write.

My memory has been cloudy lately. It's hard to make sense of when things occurred, how I felt, what happened, etc. I'm scared of not knowing what's real, both in a physical and emotional sense.

I come in. Lay down on the couch. Silence. I don't remember. I don't know what to tell her.

"How was your week?"

"I'm... not sure. Ok, I guess?"

Silence.

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I don't know what it is. Is it the season or lack of sleep? My diet? A combination of neglect? Is it my sickness getting a firmer grasp? No, that's just an excuse. I just don't care. Maybe? I don't know. I don't make sense any more.

What happened this past week? I sort of remember a convention, for games. Then a nice party. Somewhere in there I met up with friends for dinner. Talked to someone about a job. I was at work for most of it. Well.. at least I can remember fragments, and honestly, isn't that what memory is?

So how did you feel during those times? I'm sure you were pretty happy to be with friends. I'm... not sure. I don't know. In my memory, I don't think I was quite there. But... maybe I was? I don't know. Focus on the moment right? Pay attention. But looking back at it. I don't know how I felt. It just seems, empty.

What's so wrong about forgetting or being a bit forgetful? It's scary. Not knowing if something happened. Not knowing if you're making things up in your own head. Fabricating not only events, but emotions. To an extent, is this very moment just a fabrication? No, that's just silly. This moment is this moment. Bring it back to the now. What is this now? Who am I in this now? Am I different from the past now? Will I change in the future now? Am I growing, developing? Is there a change? Will things ever get better? I don't know.

Step back for a second. How do you feel now? I feel like giving up. Purposeless. Hungry. Tired. Lacking motivation. Same old same old.

Do you feel sad? I'm... not sure. Empty? It's not exactly sad. What's sad? I don't know how to really describe this? Heh... just depression I guess? It feels like I'm making an excuse. Using it as a scapegoat. Have I done that before? I don't know. Maybe? Have I? Have I?

You're blaming yourself again. Who else is there to blame? Are you suggesting there's no one to blame? If that's so, then maybe this is just me. This is who I am, and this is how I should feel. Do you really think that? Yes. Maybe. I don't know.

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"What's your earliest memory?" She broke the silence.

"I was drowning at a pool. My floatie flipped over. I remember feet and stuff."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It happened? I don't really have a feeling attached to it."

"Are you mad or angry that no one was around."

"Not really. Actually, I don't know if it happened any more. It was so long ago. But no... it did... I think?"

"Are there any other things you remember?"

"I stuck a car key in the electric socket. That one really isn't a memory though, just something constructed from stories I've heard."

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Just something constructed. Maybe it was real? How often do I do this? Was I ever happy with her? Maybe that was just another thing I made up. Again... with her. It's been... years. Literally years. Just stop. I know.

You just don't know what you want any more. Bingo. I don't even know if I ever knew. If I did, when did that change? Did I just give up? You do that a lot, don't you?

Stop being self deprecating.

How about this. We get out of bed. Stop thinking about what happened with the therapist, because you're not going to remember exactly what happened. Just remember that something did happen. Maybe you weren't all there because you were tired, hungry, depressed, whatever. Just be here now. Be happy now.

I've tried that. It all just defaults to this bullshit and those memories just become fragments. I then doubt if that was happiness. I'm stubborn about this. Was that your attempt at being optimistic and boosting us up?

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"I'll tell you this story during our next session."

"What's it about?"

"A couple of days ago, I was in the lab and was analyzing some wires. This guy starts telling me a story. I vaguely remember the beginning. He was eating dinner with someone. The other person looked up, stared blankly, 'Who are you?' 'Mom, it's me,' he replied. I felt silent. This wasn't the usual joke that this guy told. Dementia. He just started to vent about how hard it is to deal with someone like that, but how they can't just let them go because they obviously love them."

"How does that make you feel?"

"Scared. I feel like I'm going to be a burden to someone one day."

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So you distance yourself? Isn't that a normal reaction? You don't want to hurt those around you, so why not distance yourself from them?

You think you're being altruistic about this? Doing some self-sacrificing bullshit?

It doesn't matter. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be in their life.

So why the hell are you writing this? It's for pity isn't it? Oh poor us.

Maybe? It's an outlet. Kind of. Maybe someone out there feels the same way about this?

Keep telling yourself that.

But it's true. Part of it. This is how it is inside my head. These are the conversations I have with myself and to the construct of my therapist. Part of it is to let others know what it's like by just having a stream of consciousness schizo-writing. Another part... just to tie this whole thing together... is so I remember. So I know how I felt this moment, and I'll know that maybe, I didn't make it up. And that this was what was going on in my head.

So meta -_-. Get up and go eat something.