They say smell is the sense most closely linked with memory recollection. Which is probably why the man who says he is my husband is constantly barraging my nose with olfactory delights trying to jog my mind. Since nothing has worked, I'm doubtful of the correlation and I've told him so. Yet he continues to try. God bless him. He must really love me to stick around even after 2 years of attempting to get me to recall our life together before the accident.
Obviously, I still haven't or I wouldn't be writing this down. My psychologist and neurologist both said I have to keep a journal. They hope that by writing down how I am feeling something might be triggered. Again, I'm doubtful, but everyone seems so determined I'll remember and I hate disappointing people. That I do know.
It's really awful when you don't know who anyone is in your life. When you know nothing about who you are or where you came from. What you like and don't like. Especially who to trust. When you don't know who anyone is how can you keep yourself safe? That's why I'm still living at the hospital. Excuse me, they don't call it a hospital, it's a medical facility designed for people who need medical help. At least here I have some semblance of safety. They might not be good people, but with all the accolades I've seen on the walls, I feel they are. They have to keep me safe. It's their job to do so and they must be great at it otherwise they wouldn't have won awards, right? That's my line of reasoning. Both doctors recommended this place. When I told Oliver, the man I'm supposedly married to, that I refused to live with him because he is a stranger, he researched the best care facilities around. Juniper Hills was it. My parents agreed as well, so that's where I am. Level 1 at Juniper Hills, about an hour west of Boston. That basically means I have free reign to come and go as I please, which is nice. I just have to be back before they lock up for the night unless I have prior permission. This also ensures that they can monitor I'm taking my needed meds.
I've found I'm terrified of the outside world. All the horrors I've seen on the news and read about the past, compounded by the fact I know nothing. It makes me fearful of going outside. For the first nine months, I never left the grounds. Oliver visited me most days, bringing wonderful smells. Things he says were my favorite. Foods, flowers, perfumes, things like that. It's mostly been food though. He says I'm too skinny and is trying to fatten me up. He's shown me pictures of us before and even though I don't remember. I know that fat happy woman was me. I can see me hidden in her. I usually ended up giving the food away because I also have an irrational fear of looking like that woman. Although she was happy, from the pictures I know she struggled. I'm doing better now with it and agoraphobia. I usually leave every other day to explore someplace new now. At first it was with my parents or with Oliver, but lately, I have gone out alone. Well, mostly alone. Oliver hired a bodyguard to protect me when I'm out. It's actually really sweet how much he cares.
It has been a long road to recovery even without the memory problem. In the three years I was in a coma after the car accident, my body atrophied immensely. I had to relearn how to walk because I had no muscles. I couldn't feed myself because it took strength I didn't have to raise my arms. I learned of all of this about a month after I woke up. I have now lost a total of six years of my life all because some man wasn't responsible and got into his truck after drinking. When I think about it, it makes me furious, so I try not to. I have too many other things to worry about. Anyway, he's in jail. Life without parole. I was the last in a long line of hit and runs for this man. Someday, I may go visit him in prison. I need to look him in the eye and see the man who ruined my life. But right now, I'm so angry I know it's not a good idea.
The last thing I remember was it was my 23rd birthday, even though I don't recall the date. Just that it was chilly out. I had everything going for me then. I'd gotten married to Oliver a couple of months before, we had closed on a house in the Back Bay and I had landed my dream job as a writer for The Boston Globe, or so I'm told. Now I'm pushing 30, with no memories of that wonderful life. Only what I have discovered thanks to the internet. They say nothing on the internet is ever deleted and I'm thinking it might be true with all the information I've found. I am grateful it's there.
I think I may also be falling in love with my husband again. All the thought and care he has put into trying to win me back from the clutches of my broken brain. It's right out of a romantic comedy. Or what is that movie every girl is supposed to love? I just saw it...Ah yes, The Notebook. I wasn't a fan of it, although the sentiment was nice. I think I'm going to ask Oliver on a date. He brags he's a great cook, so I want him to cook for me and show me one of my favorite movies. I'm taking that first step since he doesn't seem to want to give me up. I'm finally ready to take that chance. Wish me luck.