The mock memories from the cookie-and-juice room feel foreign as
well. It had to be the same room and the same corridor, but all of it
had this very dreamlike, unreal quality. At the time of writing this
I can't remember any details, all the memories I have are more like
feelings or confused states of mind. Very hard to put into words, and
alarming as all hell. One of the weirdest memories I have of that
place is when my hair suddenly swung in front of my face and I
experienced a moment of utter surprise and confusion when I saw that
my hair was blue. When did that happen? (The day before
yesterday, actually. I just couldn't summon the memory at the time.)
Still, the whole hospital episode has nothing on the journey home. My
mother and stepfather pick me up again, and we drive through Alppila
and Kallio, my hoods for more than ten years - and it's like driving
through a strange city in a foreign country (on a remote, unknown
planet). I don't recognize any of it. Again, the logic engine
in my brain tells me that I've lived here for almost half my life, I
should know these places, but none of what I see rings even a
dim, remote bell. Everything is strange, there are no patterns which
I recognize.
Now, all of you who know me know that patterns are one of my
superpowers. That and remembering pretty much everything that's ever
happened to me, every conversation I've ever had (which is not always
a blessing, I'm telling you, but it is a handy tool in an argument -
no chance to throw that old "but you SAID---" thing at me).
I literally feel like I'm in someone else's head right now, that this
amnesiac is not me, it can't be. My husband has been asking me
surreptitious, memory-probing questions all day ("What was this
book about? Who wrote The End of Eternity? Who was the main
character in this movie?") and even when I can dig out
the correct answer from the depths of my poor bewildered brain, which
is maybe 20% of the time, it's damn hard work. Like literally digging
through layers upon layers of earth to find even a glimmer of a
memory. It's a good thing I'm an archaeologist in training, digging
through filth is what I do.
Even our home feels strange. What are those jackets doing on that
chair? Was that wall that color this morning? What's all this stuff
in this box? It feels like walking through a childhood home you moved
out of a long time ago, when someone else has been living in there
for years. The layout is familiar but everything else is strange.
This effect fades a bit after taking a meager five-hour nap (dead
tired again, not as much appetite as last time but also not the
aversion to food I normally feel), but everything still feels a bit
like a dream. Unreal, somehow.
To be honest, I can sort of understand Hemingway after today. Don't
worry, I'm not going to off myself like he did, but as another person
whose existence revolves around memory and clear thought, I can
understand the anxiety and panic this sudden insanity induces
(although whether the treatment he received was the cause of his
suicide remains debatable). I can also understand now why Alzheimer's
patients tend to be generally fearful and angry at the world: nothing
makes sense anymore. You know it's supposed to, but it
doesn't. It's incredibly frightening and frustrating. At least I know
why this is happening and I chose it myself, unlike those poor
bastards.
Well, this is supposed to wear off, so here's to hoping. And if I can
conquer this depression with a few weeks of utter confusion, it's a
small price to pay. Tulta päin!
