It’s Monday, and therefore, that means that it’s time for a new section – or fragment, as my amnesiac brain likes to call these little bits that I am teasing – from my upcoming memoir, “Shattered: Memoirs of an Amnesiac.” You can pre-order the Kindle version for only $3.99 on Amazon by clicking this link, or you can wait until the release date of September 12th, 2017 to get the actual trade copy (some people prefer to buy trade copies, and some prefer Kindle or Nook or iBooks. I’ll always be a paper girl, but hey, I don’t shun the technology, either!). Either way, the big day is quickly approaching.
Today’s fragment from “Shattered” is an emotional one for me – with a startling outcome that you, dear reader, will eventually come to learn:
I was startled by a knock on my bedroom door. I didn’t say “come in,” as I suspected that I should have, but William came in, anyhow. I realized that I wouldn’t have privacy here from the moment I’d arrived, but I didn’t feel as though I needed to care.
“What’s going on?” William asked, sitting down in the chair next to my bed.
“I don’t know my name,” I sobbed. “My clothes don’t fit – they’re all too big. And they don’t look like mine. I think that I’m in love with two men, but I’m only married to one of them. Something happened to my head. Did you know that? Did you see the scans? And someone in my brain wants me to hurt myself. I don’t know what’s happening. I’m not even allowed to eat!”
William told me that I had been taken to Brook Lane for the exact reasons I had mentioned. “There isn’t a cure for the amnesia that you have,” he said. “But if you do have some repressed memories somewhere in there, we can work to recover those. You have to accept, though, that there are some things you may never understand or remember. It’s good to have mementos, or objects. They’ll help you piece bits of your life back together. No one here wants you to be unhappy. No one wants you to kill yourself, OK? We’re all going to help you. But it’s going to take time. It’s going to be a lifelong process. And I need you to be patient.”
I nodded. “OK,” I said. “I will.”
“Now, let me give you the grand tour – show you where your bathroom is, where the phone is, and where we’ll line up for meetings,” William said. “Oh, and by the way, you’ll have your own bathroom. You’re the only female patient here right now, so you’ll have a lot of privacy. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll also make sure to write your name on everything so that you know what is yours.”
“But what if I forget my name?”
“Then I’ll help you remember it.”
William ushered me out of the room to show me around my wing of Brook Lane. As we walked, he told me that he would make sure to wake me for therapy, as well as for meetings with social workers, doctors, and occupational and physical therapists. He also said he would wake me in time to take all of my medications. There were a few new drugs I was supposed to try, he said, but that was fine. He wanted to help me. Everyone did.
When I got back to my room to rest for a while, I heard the voice. Her voice.
“You have journals at home,” she told me. “They contain all of your memories. Get the fuck out of here. You’re going to die in here. Go back. Get back to our Starlight Boy. We all need him.”
Who in the hell are we? But I knew that I wouldn’t receive an answer.
But the voice allowed me to ponder yet another question:
If there was a we, then how could there possibly be an I?
(For more excerpts from “Shattered: Memoirs of an Amnesiac,” please check back every Monday at 10 am. And pick up your pre-order for Kindle today right here on Amazon!)