Amnesiac

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Amnesiac
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

The easiest way to sleep at night
Is to carry on believing that I don’t exist
The easiest way to sell your soul
is to carry on believing we don’t exist
It must be hard
With your head on backwards

“Permanent Daylight”—Thom Yorke

Hello, everyone.

I’ve been watching your comings and goings and comments quite carefully from the sidelines whilst rubbing my nipples in anticipation. Deelishis!

Welcome to all of you—new and old readers.

Things have been slow, yes; Davita is attempting to become a baller by getting a new job and is also steadily attending summer school.

Oh, and I also have amnesia. Been living with it for 2 years now.

Let me tell you something: amnesia sucks. I got it when I was 19. Will I get better? The doctors say it will be years.

I pop the pills. The ones that keep me from having Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas images. The ones that help me keep my grip on reality, keep me coherent, keep me able to walk around in the crowd, looking cute; asking boys for favours.

I have few memories of the me before. I recall being a straight A student; I graduated highschool with honours and was holding up a B+ average in University during my very first year with a full course load. I never swore, I never went out.

I was extremely religious. I’m still a theist because, well—I don’t see any reason not to be and really; when everyone and everything else is gone, it’s all I have left after myself. Despite what a walking disaster I am most days.

Some people prefer to have just themselves but…I’m not some people.

School, work and church were basically my life before amnesia. Yeah, I still went out occasionally but they were my cornerstones.

My grandmother died a month before the incident that took my memory away and I recall standing at her grave site with my father in the red, clay, mountain soil of Jamaica as the dirt was shovelled onto her. I can’t even remember by who—it just went into the hole and that was that.

For months, I couldn’t care for myself properly. If I felt tired, I’d lay on the kitchen floor and sleep until someone found me there. I spoke with a horrible stutter; occasionally it was so terrible I couldn’t speak at all and when I wrote on paper it came out in the clumsy chicken scrawl of a four-year-old.

I can’t remember highschool. Even though it was only four years ago.

People love to bring up things from the past. It’s something I had to get used to—people talking about past things I have little to no recollection of.

It’s strange when someone other than yourself seems to have a monopoly over your life. However, there is a viciousness within me; a small part that thinks “You heartless fuck!” everytime they bring up something about me they know so much about. Everytime I remember something incorrectly. Everytime I can’t elaborate on a situation of the past but they can.

Everytime my memory fails.

It’s hard to have reached the point in your life where you think you’ve got it all figured out. You know who you are, what you believe in and what you’re working towards until suddenly you wake up in a hospital and have no idea what day it is, let alone who you are. Who your loved ones are.

My mother cut out and gave me a true story about a woman who also suffered amnesia from a magazine. She had to teach herself to read, write and cook all over again. She, I believe; has the best analogy of what it’s like to live in paradox.

“Amnesia is like being in a play and everyone knows the words but you”

Of course I don’t remember her name, or what magazine it was from or where I even put the fucking thing.

I never swore before my amnesia but I was always angry, deep down inside. I still am.

Amnesia sounds*exactly* like Radiohead to me. Amnesia also looks like this to me.

I’ve come a long way. I can write again and I don’t stutter anymore. I still suffer from terrible headaches from the trauma I experienced and I still have to go to therapy for the psychological damage. Pop my pills to keep my freedom lest they shove me in The Ward again.

So that’s that.

Amnesiacs unite! Let’s…do. Things.

I take a lot more pictures now and my appreciation for literature and film has definitely increased immeasurably. I re-learned to cook and I got used to things like loud noises/music all over again. I got used to reading too; I couldn’t read more than a few words before not paying attention anymore and throwing the book across the room. I also don’t attack people or smash things as much as I used to out of sheer primal confusion.

La, la, lah…

Everyday is an uphill strife; each step must be carefully taken so you don’t feel like you’re somehow trapped in some fake matrix. The distinction of what is real, what is not, what has happened, what you thought could happen and what may have happened come together in a giant mess that must be sorted through carefully.

Treasure your memories. For once today, put all the bullshit aside—all those feelings of inadequacy, hurt, sadness, futility, embarrassment. Look them in the face and tell them to go suck a lemon; even if it’s just for ten seconds.

Treasure who you are because someday…you might…lose…track.

“We got heads on sticks; you got ventriloquists” “Kid A”—Thom Yorke

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~ by davitacuttita on May 14, 2008.

2 Responses to “Amnesiac”

  1. Holy smokes!

    I knew a girl in a similar situation, a nice young lady who was hit by a drunk driver. She became very agressive and outspoken, driving away almost all of her friends. She also couldn’t remember any of us she’d met in the few years previous to her accident. Her whole life was a slow-motion car crash for years afterwards. My thought at the time was the same as it is now: That could have been me, or anyone else.

  2. Hey Carolyn J,

    Yes, amnesia is a slippery slope and you always start inside a hole with shattered glass lining the walls–and you gotta use your hands to climb up n’ out. It takes forever and by the time you make it you ‘re exhausted and covered in wounds that never heal.

    So to all the mental normies out there, including you; seize the day; carpe diem–que sera, sera n’ all that gushy stuff BLAHBLAHBLAH. heheh.

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