It seems that all I do these days is forget.
It’s the ECT, of course. Electroconvulsive Therapy. I imagine I’ll remember everything, but I immediately forget every detail of my day. Oh, I’m spending the night at my parent’s house tonight? I had no clue. I guess I’d better pack my bag before my dad comes to pick me up.
It’s ridiculous. Unacceptable, really—except for the fact that I’m not so sad now.
I don’t know which is worse; forgetting everything, or being sad.
It’s being sad, right? I’m pretty sure it is.
My eldest child is turning eight on Thursday. I’ve forgotten to buy him a present.
His mom is—if not overjoyed with her existence—less sad.
Have I just forgotten to be sad? Is that what this is? I just can’t tell.
I hate this.
Here’s what I know: My name is Jenny. A doctor gives me seizures to help reset my brain. I’m happier than I was a month ago.
It’s a good thing.