I know what it’s like to be old.
I know what it’s like to search for a word and have it live on the tip of your tongue, to start a sentence and then forget the ending of it. To remember in crystal clear detail something that happened ten years ago but wonder about yesterday. To remember details through a fog and be reminded of second nature.
To use the backspace key more than the normal letters.
To depend on someone else for everything and to feel incapable of being your own….anything.
I bring up the same topics for conversation over and over and I find myself wondering how many times I’ve told whatever I’m telling to whoever I’m telling it to. I don’t trust my own memories or my own logic. I start a story in my mind and I think, “Hey, that’s good, I should write that d….where the hell did that shirt come from? That’s cute, I don’t remember that, I’ll wear it tomorrow.” Then I find, at the end of five or six days, that I’ve been wearing the same jeans all along.
I see a pale brunette in her own car with shiny hair, trendy glasses, and a smart peacoat and I want to grab her, scream in her face to GRAB IT, GRAB IT AND HANG ON, BECAUSE I WAS YOU LAST YEAR AND NOW IT’S ALL GONE. I want SOMEONE to have all that I don’t. All that I lost when I lost the ability to grasp exactly who I am.