Chronicle of a Forgotten Life

I'm a bit late with Sunday Scribblings, but first, I want to thank you so much for all your kind, sweet birthday wishes to my youngest.  I shared your comments with her, much to her (blushing) delight. Every girl could use an 'esteem boost,' every now and then (and every mom enjoys hearing sweet things said about their child)  - both she, and I, thank you for giving that little extra lift to her on her birthday. XOXO to you all!

Now, I'll finally get around to Sunday Scribblings. When I first read this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt, "Chronicle," I didn't feel particularly inspired. Then I fell asleep for a bit and woke up later (or earlier, really) with a...well, a chronicle of sorts. I don't remember dreaming about the story, it felt more like I just woke up with it there in my head.  The part that's taken the longest here, was the illustration - typing out the initial page, 'aging' it with an ink pad, and then drawing the scene on it. There is more to the story - too much to try to chronicle all of it here. What's downloaded itself into my head so far, is a much longer story, almost but not quite really a graphic novel, but an illustrated one of sorts.

Even though the whole thing is going to be too long to put here today (and even though I just said a couple of weeks ago, I don't like to show my idea balloon eggs off, till they've hatched). Even though I feel all awkward and exposed, like the first summer day on the beach in my bathing suit, too colorless and flabby* - still,  I thought I would  share this beginning with you, since the Chronicle prompt did inspire it, after all. *Something just occurred to me - is this something I read a long time ago? Does anyone else have those kinds of fears, or is it just me being neurotic? If someone else already wrote this, I'm going to feel as ridiculous, as I would if I saw someone younger and slimmer wearing the same bathing suit. Though heaven only knows, there's nothing new under the sun... but ok, I've already hit the publish button - too late now! I'm plunging in! Never going to get any color or into shape, just sitting in the shade wishing...

I think I've taken that metaphor out about as far as it can go. So sink or swim (taking a deep breath, holding my nose and crossing my fingers, taking the metaphor out just a bit farther), I'm plunging in, with the beginning of this little fictional chronicle:

I am. That's all that I know of me right now. I am me - whoever that may be. Yesterday, I awoke to find that, apparently, I am in the hospital - according to the doctor, and the nurses attending me, I have been here in this room, unconscious for a very long time.

They are calling me Miriam - for that is the only identification of any sort that was with me when I was found - no wallet in my purse, just that name, embroidered on a handkerchief. I feel no sense of recognition though, when they call me by that name - shouldn't a person recognize their own name?

They - the doctor and nurses - are in wonder that I can even recall how to write this soon after waking. But I  feel that I must - the pen and paper feel like my lifeline right now. I asked for them, almost immediately, upon awaking, though they wouldn't bring them to me till today, when I kept insisting.

I have no history; feel I have no past - and so now I feel I must begin documenting each moment of this strange present, creating my new history - a chronicle of my life; I've lost my previous one. I don't know who I am, but I write, therefore I am. That reminds me of something, but I'm not sure what, just yet. My name and past aren't the only losses here, I'm afraid.

Apparently I suffered a great deal of trauma to my head; which explains why my hair is so short - they had to shave it off for surgery and I can still feel where it's healing. I've been unconscious a long time - long enough for my hair to grow back in a bit, but it is still short - short as a boy's haircut. I know many women do wear their hair this short, but this is one thing, strangely enough,  I think I remember about me: that once I had longer hair. Isn't it odd that my own name doesn't seem familiar to me, yet somehow I can remember my hairstyle?  There are still bandages wound around my head, and the short hairs get caught on it, and prickle.

I've looked in the mirror the nurse brought to me, when I asked, and my face looks familiar - and yet not my own. I don't know how else to explain this. I know that face - but it doesn't feel like it's my own, but the face of someone else that is familiar to me - a friend; maybe my sister - certainly someone I've seen before. But that face in the mirror - she's not me, she's - she's...someone I know. I know this sounds insane - obviously the face in the mirror is my own; it's a reflection. The laws of physics haven't changed. It's simply because I've had a serious head injury. Probably there is some part of the mind that governs face recognition - that does seem like a familiar concept to me, though of course, I'm not sure why. Perhaps I was a student? But of what? What would I study, what was my passion?

Right now, my only passion is for this pen and paper...even though I'm growing more and more tired, and my head is beginning to ache again. Yet I'm reluctant to put down the pen and sleep again. I've slept so much! Six weels is a very long time for a nap, don't you think?

This is so odd, who am I questioning here? It's as though I'm writing not just a diary entry, but some sort of a...a letter to someone. Someone close to me, that I want to communicate to - that I want to know all of these strange thoughts and feelings I've been having since my awakening. Perhaps there is someone out there who cares, though they haven't yet been able to find anyone who knew me - or even knew of me. According to the doctor, they did run a description of me in the newspaper. No one's come forward yet to claim me as their own - their daughter, sister, wife, fiancee' - nor even just a friend or a neighbor. Apparently I'm alone in the world. Though it seems to me there is someone; someone far away, to whom I write...

They haven't found anyone who witnessed the accident either. How did I come to fall from that fire escape balcony? What was I doing there? No one seems to have known me in that building. The police have inquired, and no one saw me enter, with or without anyone else. They said a policeman would like to interview me, when I feel up to it. I'm not sure how useful that would be. I don't even remember an alleyway or a balcony.

Nor has anyone found my wallet or any other identifying evidence. I am a woman with no history, who has no idea in the least what the future may hold. This makes it seem all the more imperative that I write each thought down, as it occurs. Each piece of my own personal puzzle - the where and the what of me, even if I never remember the who and the why of me. So even if I fall asleep and forget again, I will have this bit of me that I can come back to and remember. I think I must stop and rest soon. I will come back to this page later; I must chronicle each and every thought, if I'm ever to piece the mosaic of my life back together.

I need more paper - I hope I can get them to bring me more tomorrow. As important as the words are to me, I've wanted to draw what I am seeing, as well. Since I have so few pages, I drew upon the pages I am writing on; somehow I think it will help me to see who I am, and I also feel the need to show - you, whoever you are. I feel more and more certain there is a You out there somewhere. Whoever you are, wherever you may be, I wish you would come here and help me find myself.

Was I looking for you, where they found me? I feel sure you hold the key to my locked memory box. Come, find me soon - before the lock can rust shut. I need you to find me, so can I find me. Find us both.

For links to other chronicles, visit Sunday Scribblings

Comments

[Laini]

Cool idea and great wriring, Terri! I want to know who she is! Do you know? Or is it unfolding for you too? That's an interesting thought about your own face looking familiar but not your own. Can you imagine? I read an article in Wired recently about "face blindness" -- a neurological disorder in which people have no "face recognition ability" which leads neurologists to believe there is a totally different mechanism in the brain for perceiving faces than there is for ALL OTHER THINGS. How crazy is that? And how crazy to come upon a new frontier in science, or the researchers. It was a fascinating article. Sorry to ramble off subject here. Your drawing and aged page are so cool -- love the idea. Have fun working on the rest of your chronicle!

[Tammy]

I'm fascinated with your drawing and how you aged it. The story draws you in so keep going. I sooo get that metaphor. LOL
HUGS

[Jana]

Tinker, you MUST publish this!!!!!! This is so good!!!! I LOVE it!!!! When do we get chapter two?? *waiting expectantly*

OH! I tagged you on my blog!

[Pacian]

Extremely cool. I love stories like this: where a character finds almost insurmountable everyday problems that the rest of us hardly even notice. (cf. Memento) It helps us to remember how little we know about what's going on in our own heads.

Eagerly awaiting chapter 2!

[Gemma]

Love how you drew what she saw over what she wrote. Tinker you have such fantastic ideas and put them out here for us.
Love it!

[Kara]

wow - that was a treat to read !!

[Paris Parfait]

This is a wonderfully-written story, Terri! Very imaginative, propelling the reader forward, wanting to know more. The art accompanying it is also beautiful! I'd say you've come up with a perfect chronicle! xo

[giggles]

Full of suspense this poignant scribble. It would be horrible to awaken with all those questions. I’m sure it happens to stroke victims, and Alzheimer’s patients. Beautiful piece of art, must have taken ages… really enjoyable compilation! Wish I could have chronicled something that profound!! I found the prompt difficult, so I winged it!

[gautami]

This is good! Glad I got here..

[Frances]

You have two great talents - drawing & writing. I enjoyed your post - hope to read more.
Take care,
Frances

[Janet]

What an interesting story! I'm hooked! Are you going to continue this or leave us dangling?? You are very talented both in writing and drawing and I like how you incorporated the two together.

[Lisa(0ceandreamer)]

The page with her drawing over it is quite wonderful....and the STORY, well this story is compelling and it draws you in immediately. I want to know what happens, I want to know if she begins to recall anything. I want to know if her story will begin to unfold. You are such a good writer Terri. My only concern about this story is that this is all we get...tell me that isn't so!
XOXO

[Pam Aries]

Wow.. that was kinda wierd..I was getting lost in the story ...and thinking to myself I had forgotten where the line of reality /fiction was! Doh.. there for a minute I thought you were talking about YOU! Does that make sense? I had to shake it off!

[rel]

I too had trouble with this prompt. You however have triumphed and put an amzing story together. Imagination and drawing ability! I enjoyed this beginning, and hope sometime you'll let us know if they found her.
rel

[Sioux]

Very well done!

[lisa]

Tinker, this is an amazing story. I want to hear more. I love the drawing. I love that the page she is holding has the drawing. Love the aging, too. It really does look like it's been around a while. You are so talented.

[GeL(Emerald Eyes)]

Enchanting and engrossing story, uniquely expressed verbally and visually! I loved this and having found you via Sunday Scribblings!
I'm also an artist, found the prompt at 3 a.m. and also used the metaphor "plunged in" but not nearly as creatively as you. I was too tired and wimped out as you'll see by my contribution.You're so inspiring.Again, fantastic post!

[Alison Whittington]

Woooooow. I want more.

[gerry rosser]

I thought everybody woke up feeling like that every day (a little). I don't even have the excuse that somebody delivered tolchoks to my gulliver.

Nice bit of writing, that. (I mean you, not the short paragraph I just wrote, but, then, you parbly knew that, at least . . . )

I hope it's not too apparent that I'm a loose ends today, bothering people on their blogs on account of I have no one else to harass.

[Caroline]

Oh one of my great fears is completely losing my memory! And I've already done the Soul Collage card for it too!

Scary stuff