Words and more words. I read words I’ve read before trying to remember all the things associated with them. I see bright colored lines making certain sentences stand out as my eyes scan the page. I remember how I used to read so quickly just by scanning the page. My mind would take an inner picture of those pages to use later when most needed. It’s a terrible thing to be able to remember how it was before and to know it is now terribly different. Many months ago I had decided to quit trying to learn new things. Learning the new was out of reach. Instead I attempted to pull up the deepest hidden roots of things already learned. Now as I pull at one it leads to another and yet another. The endless maze of things learned. Sometimes it’s exhilarating to discover the depth of what I’d learned in the past. At other times it’s an endless frustration when I can glimpse it in my inner mind and find it’s determined to stay out of reach.
There are times I’ve pulled at something with all my might willing it to pull free of the muck in my mind. Pulled until it instead breaks off exposing a huge broken connection. The worst headaches at at these moments. Faces of people I’ve known before will swim before my eyes and slip away as quickly as they appeared.
Lately I feel very…inward. This is the only seemingly right word to describe this disconnectedness. I look into a mirror and see this woman I don’t recognize. As much as I can pretend to know her, I don’t. She is someone I don’t know no matter how many times I look in the mirror hoping to see someone I remember. I don’t even know who it is I expect to see when I look in the mirror. I simply know the reflection is one I can’t find a match for in my memory.
I wake in the middle of the night tears running out of the corners of my eyes into my hair. There is no memory of what caused these tears, no sense of any emotion connected to them. I am left yet again with the emptiness. It is as if I continually put my hand out into the dark hoping, praying for the familiar grasp of another’s hand. One which never reaches out for me. I don’t know what it is I am reaching for anymore. All I am left with is the overwhelming sense of confusion.
It is as if I remember reaching out and a strong grip was always ready to grasp my hand. But now there is nothing. Nothing but the loneliness in the dark of the night as I wake with tears tracing their way into my hair. I wake with no memory of why they are there.