Splintered, A Chronicling of Memoria

Alexander Moss
“What is it like to have Amnesia? What’s it like? It's as if to say that any remnant of existence tying you to this world has shriveled into a crumpled piece of scrap from gods notebook. My personal beliefs in god are questionable, but that’s not for now. When i look at myself in the mirror, I wish I could say "oh I'm so ugly," or "I need to lose weight." But looking at myself in the mirror and not remembering the man on the other side of the reflection, is like watching a home video about a stranger, and trying to say how they are different from before. Think about it to yourself... looking at an empty picture album, and saying "that’s my life" and think about how it might feel to know that sad fact. I didn't know my own name until the doctors exhumed my old wallet from my jeans, it’s as if I was born again in a strange world where all I could do was say "i honestly don't know". I know you want to interrupt my incessant blather, but I feel the need to continue unchallenged by your opinions. My photo albums are filled with air, absent of any solute memory that might sustain my pathetic existence on this planet. If I were to die today, not even i would remember myself, looking down on my own grave.... utterly forgotten by time and space. I'd venture a guess what I had a family somewhere, maybe a wife...I wish I could just dredge through my memories, pull out a picture, and put it in my albums, just so that i would have one solitary memory to stare at in the wee hours of the night, when i sit alone on my bed and curse the heavens for birthing me a third of the way into life. I have been plunged into liquid sadness, and I’m drowning without a memory to use as a raft, or another person to save me from the black oil crawling in beads down my face. Sanity is the one thing that i have, and I feel that slipping away as I prematurely fall into senility. That’s what its like to have amnesia, Madame Reporter.”