I've been forgetting what I've told to who lately. At first it was funny. Like, oh, there are so many new people in my life that I can't remember which stories I've shared. Some of these new people are just farther along with the unveiling of who Liz has been up to this point in her life. Which is valid. But then came the question, from one new person and then another, and then from old friends. "You told me last night/week. Remember?" And I didn't remember.
It's possible there is something broken in my brain.
Because I have always been the one who remembers everything.
I tease my mom when she repeats things. To be fair, she repeats stories because it's usually weeks between us seeing each other. It's an easy thing to do. She's also the kind of person who will tell you exactly what you should say and what you should do, and then she'll tell you again in case you missed it the first time around. She's only trying to help. I thought maybe I was just doing the same as her, like mother like daughter! But this isn't the same thing.
I read somewhere on the internet that a symptom of anxiety can be memory loss.
The truth is, going through a divorce has created a weird mental void. I never needed bill reminders before. I rarely forgot to respond to a text. My calendar was the thing I used to give myself routine. To-do lists only seem to grow because they feel too overwhelming, when once I felt accomplished as I worked my way through them. I still feel married. I wonder when that goes away. And I never seem to get enough sleep. For weeks I couldn't sleep at all, and lately all I want to do is sleep.
The internet also says memory loss stemming from anxiety won't last forever. That makes me feel better.
As I come back to myself, it's the little things that go a long way. Like friends who leave ice cream on your back doorstep when you've cried your face off and don't want to be seen. Cried your face off because some days you feel like a shell of the person you used to be - the person you don't want to be anymore - and the shell is cracking and you are forced to interact with the pieces of yourself you've hidden away. There is a Liz I've starved, but she's finally eating. (Sometimes she overeats and gets sick, and maybe that's why she can't remember.)
Anyway. When we talk, I might repeat myself.
So stop me if I told you this already.