Losing My Past

She extends her hand, reaching for mine. She wraps her fingers around my hand, and I do the same, both of us completing the ritual in a warm handshake. She looks straight into my eyes and what starts off as a smile on her face ends with the words “Hi, I am Jennifer.”

I respond in kind, and almost immediately I find myself fighting the urge to add the familiar caveat, “I probably won’t remember your name in a few minutes.”

This has been happening a lot lately. The struggle to remember people’s names just seconds after I hear it. I have also been forgetting things odd events like promising to call someone or planning to meet with someone. Please note that this is not one of those slips-of-the-mind where someone jolts your memory and it all comes rushing back with apologies.

Someone would even recount to me where we were and what I was wearing when we talked about something, and I would have zero memory of both the conversation and occasion. And this is a conversation that took place only a few weeks back!

 A friend suggested I have trouble remembering names because I am a snob, and I need to begin showing genuine interest in people.

“You are a journalist. Being interested in people should be in your blood,” he told me recently.

It scares me to think that I might be losing my memory in that serious Alzheimer-like kind of amnesia. It is true that I have a problem recalling names of people I have interviewed at work, especially over the past year. I always have to write them down immediately, even if it is just the name of one person.

But lately I have become even more afraid because the problem seems more serious than I thought. I have been forgetting things that no one in their right mind should forget. The irony of writing about things I forget is that I need to remember them to write about them.

But I had lunch with a friend earlier today and she reminded me that a few years ago I had tried to commit suicide. But I have zero recollection of that event. She said I even showed her the marks where I had slit my wrists.

Now, attempted suicide is not something you just forget with the casualness of forgetting where you placed your keys. Reasons for the event aside, it hit me today that what is happening is more serious than I thought.

There are about a dozen other “serious” events that happened not long ago that seem to have been completely wiped from my memory. Even when friends bring them up, there is no recognition on my part. It is like I am hearing the information for the first time. In fact, my curiosity to hear more about what they are saying “I did” is intriguing to them. They find it fascinating.

But I don’t. I think it is sad. I feel like I am missing out on my own life. I am losing important experiences, some of which were pivotal in shaping the kind of person I am today.

Over the past several weeks, I have found myself grasping at memories of my own life with the frantic desperation of someone who is trying to recall a fading dream. I know I should probably definitely go see a mental specialist before the situation gets worse. But until then, I couldn’t help but notice how strange this feels.

Each passing day leaves me more afraid to converse with people from my past. Because I am not sure what they will tell me only for me to respond with a blank stare. There is also the fear of offending, like when a past girlfriend recently remarked in disbelief “how could you forget that day?”

You know that feeling when you are talking with someone and you wanted to say something then it slipped out of your mind a second before you said it? You know, those glitches in memory that we often try to troubleshoot with tips like “stop trying to retrieve it and it will come to you”? Well, that’s becoming a permanent feeling and I hate it.

I wonder if this is how people with Alzheimer’s feel.

I hate that I have to now read some articles (and books) several times because I cannot memorize or remember them, and the only solution is to “internalize” them and understand them so well that what they are teaching becomes almost a visceral knowledge rather than a recalled piece of information. I hate knowing that I will definitely forget someone’s name the first time I hear it until I have practiced it dozens of times.

Odd as it sounds, I am not at all surprised by what is happening to my memory. I can trace when it started, and what the trigger was. I went through a traumatic experience almost two years ago. It was quite a painful, soul-wrenching experience. And the genius in me tried to deal with it by suppressing the bad memories instead of confronting them.

I did suppress those negative experiences and successfully erased them from my memory and conscience. But now I am paying the price.

What I didn’t know is that there would be casualties. Time to make that appointment with the shrink. Meanwhile, my strategy is, journal every important thing as soon as it happens. Because remembering it is no longer an option, at least for the moment – hopefully just for the moment.