Broken Doll

So I’m alive but the drugs made me stupid. In conversation with David this morning, I’m in mid-sentence and completely, utterly forget what I was going to say. I couldn’t even remember specifically what we’d been talking about. Even trying to trace back our conversation, for a minute or more, didn’t help. It only came back to me five minutes later, and then again almost disappeared before I could say it!

And it happens so often now, this forgetfulness. I’ve walked all the way out to the street from the office — a trip that takes me five minutes and eight floors down an elevator and an escalator — before realizing that I’d left my wallet in the drawer of my file cabinet. I misplace things. I am utterly stumped by such questions as: “What did you do last night?”  I have mental to-do lists and then completely forget what’s on them once I have the time to get anything accomplished. I feel cloudy and unfocused more often than not.

If this were usual for me I wouldn’t worry. But it’s not. If it were just once-in-a-while, I wouldn’t worry. But it’s all the time. And more than anything else, my brain, my competence, my intelligence is who I am. And now I’ve lost great big chunks of me and who knows if I’ll get it back. I grew up fat and ugly but at least I knew that I was never stupid. And now I am.