I remember everything about my life, to my own detriment. I know the expiry date of the eggs in the fridge back in 2009. I remember all the digits of my current credit card, and all my previous expired cards. I know the movie lines by heart after just one viewing, and same for song lyrics for every song I’ve ever heard.
My memory has never failed me. I live with the curse of knowing. I remember all the disappointment and being let down by a so-called friend. The vivid recollection of every lie someone has told me. The embarrassing childhood moments that stick out like a sore thumb. I suffer from my sharp memories giving nothing but the honest truth of the world around me. I can’t escape myself and my mind. I’ve tried drinking until I black out, but I still remember all the excruciating details of being violently sick all night. Memory, for me, is pain and misery.
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