Selective Memories

Seeing as my days are usually spent in a high anxiety haze or a distanced dream state, my recollection of short term (and long term…) memories are very limited. My first appointment with a new psychiatrist was definitely no exception. I couldn’t tell you the colour of his hair, or his demeanour, I can’t even tell you most of what we talked about. Even though I find myself missing most of the valuable moments of this appointment, some things have suck with me. I can remember the vivid green that the courtyard projected through the window and the sound of the rain drops on the tin roof. I recall the fact that the carpet wasn’t symmetrical, that the photo of Bob Dylan was slightly to high to be considered eye-level and that the sofa creaked in a way that was more unnerving than welcoming.

My ability to absorb the words that were shared in that hour was almost non existent, but the colours and shapes come a little more naturally. What a funny process of selection must be going on in my head on a daily basis. The tears stains on my cheek haven’t even had time to dry before I forget the reason they were made. My life is sheltered by ignorance and comfort. I don’t know how to learn from mistakes I don’t remember.

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