I’ve been wanting to recount my experiences a bit, process the trauma and all of the bullshit I’ve gone through this year. There will be no “in order” it’s just whatever comes to me that I feel I can coherently type out like a cigar chomping monkey chained to a typewriter.
Right now it’s memory. As I take tentative baby steps toward rejoining the world, a small errand here, a masked up outdoor event there, I realize I need to take my keys. I forget them all the time. I hardly ever remember my wallet. Mom won’t let me touch cash, so I pay for things with my phone… I am usually with family or mom is home if by chance I am not with her… so keys are just sitting on my dresser. Coming home I knew to expect some things changed - furniture rearrangement is one of my mom’s methods of stress management - but I didn’t expect a lot of my shit to be packed up and shoved away in bins and vacuum sealed bags. I’m only coming out of the haze enough to ask, “hey, where the fuck is my christmas cookie tin of stickers??”
Granted, the second I stepped in my bedroom the night I was discharged, I immediately noticed the urn with Mr. Destiny’s cremains were missing. Turns out my aunt heard “Pack the cat, leave her dad” instead of vice versa.
Of course the thought of anyone in my bedroom riffling through my shit gives me the heebie jeebies but that’s another post.
Remembering where the spoons go. How heavy a glass of water is. Where is my lip scrub? Why did you vacuum seal the dumbo plush I sleep with every night? It isn’t amnesia per say, it’s just returning to a world I expected to be deliberately and carefully put on pause until my return.
I’m only now coming out of the fog enough to nake an attempt to go through the pile of mail that built up; I remember pre-ordering a LP but don’t remember receiving it. Did it ever arrive? Did I fever dream that order? Thankfully I kept the receipt in the proper Gmail folder and my mom knew exactly where to find it; a package I had been staring at every day on my bookshelf for the last month. 🙄
Only a couple of weeks ago I started to sit at my PC. I wanted to get back to playing Stardew Valley - which I resisted playing on the switch my Eldest gave me, in fear I would lose the muscle memory of playing on PC. Thankfully my abstinence paid off and I didn’t run into trees or key smash all over the farm. It’s little shot like this to the bigger shit like remembering how to dress in proper clothes…how to best fit them around my external device how to shower again…how to feel human.
Part of it is the drugs, I’m not going to dance around that. O’ apothecary, thy drugs are quick! But there is something to be said about the muscle of memory falling as lax as the extremities that wither in the temperature controlled confines of a hospital.
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