From 1994 to 2004, my life was increasingly blurry. Memories fade for all of us, but, for people under depression, they often don’t exist.
It’s one of the reasons I can barely recall anyone’s names who I went to college with, outside of my close circle of friends. When we get together, they’ll tell stories. “Remember that girl Jenna who John dated for like three years? Remember that time she fell down the stairs drunk?” Actually, I have no idea who they are talking about, even though I probably met her many times. There are big black holes in my life that I’ll never fill in.
It’s not fair to so many people who tried to love me, but it’s the truth. They tried more than hard enough. It was me who couldn’t connect.
I remember things; it’s not as if ten years are blank.
There’s probably somebody that you knew that forgot about you. Maybe you even tried to know them or help them.
It’s not a nice feeling, to be forgotten, but it wasn’t because of you.