My Foggy Island

I had a concussion when I was 19. 

It was an indirect consequence of my attempt on my life. It was also a feeble attempt. I was desperately trying to escape my own depression from my own body. 

The drugs I took, was not enough to kill me, but it made me groggy enough and I could've died from the fall. When I fell and hit my head, I lost consciousness and sank right into darkness.

It was brief. When I came around, the darkness followed. It has followed me for years now.

I have always been afraid of the dark since I was a pea-sized brat. Between holding my pee through the night, or brave the darkness for a night's worth of relief, I would've chose the former. For the longest time, I wondered if I would finally grow up and be okay with the absence of light. And finally be able to pee in the middle of the night, if I have to. 

After my fall, I was admitted to the hospital the next day. The police visited me in the middle of the night to take a statement. They wanted to make sure I wasn't a victim of domestic abuse. Funny enough, I was a victim of my own abuse (does it still count?). 

It took me years to realise that I spent years after my accident in a dark fog.

My memories were splotchy.. It's like watching a pirated show. The audio is muffled, the scenes are too dark, and there are blanks in between. Perhaps the years after were terrible as well and my brain was just trying to protect me from emotional trauma.

Last year, it finally dawned upon me the severity of my memory loss.

I was day dreaming and a memory floated to the surface of my consciousness. It's like seeing a faint glow at the bottom of a door, in a dark corridor.

It was a scene: my poly classmates, at a karaoke, back when we were in China for a school trip. 

I immediately picked up my phone and texted my friend. 

Kat: Do you remember our school trip?

K: Did we go to party world?

E: Yes why?

K: OH. I couldn't remember anything about it. Except that we were there. Hahaha I thought it was my imagination!

E: That's random.

More than 10 years have passed. I still live. 

It's been isolating. Every day it threatens to scream how I don't deserve a seat in the living world. And every day, I will scramble to my feet to try to present something worthy. A cheerful goof, hopefully a likeable idiot. A helpful person, hopefully a knowledgeable one. A curious try-er of hobbies, hopefully something sticks. Say something funny, maybe it'll come across witty. Plan a reaction in a split second, maybe they'll think you're not completely devoid of emotions. Smile for the camera, maybe someone would remember to tag you. Maybe all of these will make up for the dark, foggy decades before. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

At least this intense, crippling isolation saved a seat for me. I'll return when I luck out.