A Missing Month
There's a certain horror in today. My phone said that it was October 1. October? How could that be? There was no September. Oh. No, there was just no September for me. If my accident happened midday on August 30, my memory essentially freezing right then, of course I'm perplexed that it's October.
How does it feel having a month missing from my memory? Like a dulled panic. I wonder if many months from now, I'll look back with the same revulsion that it's six months with no memories. Or a year. Will this start to not mean anything to me eventually?
Or will I wake up from this nightmare one day, my full memory restored, and all the months—maybe just full of doctor appointments and insurance claims and pain—will be waiting for me in my memory bank somehow? All backed up and ready for review.
Please, brain. Please be doing this for me.
How does it feel having a month missing from my memory? Like a dulled panic. I wonder if many months from now, I'll look back with the same revulsion that it's six months with no memories. Or a year. Will this start to not mean anything to me eventually?
Or will I wake up from this nightmare one day, my full memory restored, and all the months—maybe just full of doctor appointments and insurance claims and pain—will be waiting for me in my memory bank somehow? All backed up and ready for review.
Please, brain. Please be doing this for me.
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