One of scariest aspects about living day in and day out with my illness, is this feeling that I’m losing my memory (ies).
I’m scared because I may forget the life I lead today. It’s so full and meaningful now. What if, in a couple of years, when my boys are older, I can’t remember the simple things I cherish today?
Many of us at the clinic complained about our ‘foggy’ memory, how we’d walk into a room and forget why we’re there. This may seem familiar to those not suffering from a mental illness. We were reassured that this was just due to our inability to concentrate. When you’re depressed, your concentration span often goes down south and so you cannot remember. How can you remember the moment if you weren’t in the moment to begin with?
But is that all that’s to it?
During my stay at the psychiatric clinic, I had two roommates, one worked as a carer at another psychiatric hospital. She had some knowledge about our medication which helped a lot. She also loved bipolars. My roommates and I grew very close and we were often inseparable. We were like sisters. Then one afternoon out of the blue, I felt dizzy and couldn’t remember one of their names. Why did it happen? I felt quite present in the bloody moment!
I also felt quite embarrassed.
This wasn’t the first time it’s happened. A few months back, I couldn’t remember my best friend’s name. In my attempt to find the name, I felt like I’d been grabbing objects in the dark, stumbling over nonsense and realising I had been in the wrong room anyway. My husband had to flip the switch and hand over the name.
Is it the medication?
Is it the Bipolar Disorder?
Can I really blame this monster for everything?
At least it gave us all something to laugh about in the clinic.
And it’s a major driving factor for me to complete my memoir.
I don’t want to leaving this world with blank spaces. I don’t want to leave my family with empty pages. I want to live and remember this book called Life.
Be alive in the moment.