The story of how my diagnosis came to be, is one that very few people know the whole of besides my husband, until now...
Growing up my step-father was a raging alcoholic. My Mom and I were both abused, while she got the brunt of it. I think we both broke in different ways. We moved around a great deal. A lot of things got lost, broken, or left behind along the way. So many places and tubs became a catch all of things important that were saved yet never used. Never unpacked, or found in the obscure box they were shoved into. It's only recently I've been finally working through those things. Finding proper homes for that worth keeping, and moving on from what was not. I've cleared through a ridiculous amount of storage from my childhood. Sold vintage toys on Ebay, burned old love letters, found homes for precious trinkets.
A few items bring back precious memories, other items acting as the only proof of an event's existence. I've recently began sorting through an old jewelry box, my latest project. I have an updated more functional version to organize my jewelry better, and I have another on my 'to purchase' list to assist even more. I have a habit of collecting pressed pennies from places I go. They got their own drawer. Some of the trips I remember well. Some trips the copper trinket serves as the only convincing element that I was ever there.
I document my life meticulously now, especially moments of importance. My memory is terrible due to having multiple sclerosis. It's one of my most affected areas of brain damage.
It's safe to say that over time we all become a different person. We grow, mature, make mistakes, and ultimately become a summation of our experiences. What happens though when you can't remember the experiences you're a summation of?
