"and everything you hoped would last - just always becomes your past (it hurts)"

It has a certain truth to it, sad though that might be. Everything must always give way, and the present becomes the past whether you choose for that to be the case or not. Certainly you can celebrate each joy and each passion for what they are, and you can pursue each love with everything inside of you. That is the right of each person, to clasp to their heart what means most to them, and cherish it.

Yet in the end, time moves steadily forward, and each moment drifts into the next, and the brilliant flash of colour that lit up the world, when it meant so much, and while everything was swamping your emotions, will move into the next moment in time. And that flash will become yesterday, and all the yesterdays before. And it will be a memory, instead of the reality that is right now.

Not that a memory is bad, or something unworthy. But you cannot hold it in your hands. There is no way to reach out your hands and touch a memory, and feel it beneath your palms, and feel the texture against them. You cannot smell crispness in the air, or hear music pounding in your ears. There is no substitute for what goes on while you are building what will then become the future memory.

I have cried, screamed, and been frustrated recently, railing against myself. Against many things, maybe even against the gods, for making what seems to me to be so difficult. I am angry, I have been angry, a great deal of the time lately. My memory, my lack of memory, angers me. And it is a rare thing, for me to rail against that, because I had long since stopped fighting a battle that I knew I could not win, where my memory was concerned.

For the most part, I simply try to not think about it. It does me no good, to focus on something I have no control over, that I have long since lost. Sometimes, I fail. For the last few weeks, I have been an epic failure on that front, and I go around and around in my head, wanting nothing more than to have back what I have no access to, to understand what is missing inside of my mind. I want to be able to work through the puzzle inside of my brain, the way I can puzzle out the missing pieces of other things that do not make sense in the world around me.

I should not be complaining. It could be a lot worse, and it galls me that I sit around feeling this sorry for myself. I can look at myself objectively, and I know that I could have it a lot worse, and I should simply shut up, and be grateful. I am grateful, truth be told. But being thankful for what I have, does not seem to make it so I do not long for what I miss. And it does not make it easier right now, as the beginning of April creeps inexorably closer.

Would I do everything again? Because someone is inevitably going to ask that question. Knowing now, what I know, would I allow it, would I do it again? Make the same choice, to have this end result? Yes, I suppose I would. There needs to be better support in place as after care. Not physically, but emotionally. Being the only one is isolating, and extremely difficult. I do not even want to think about how bad it might be for a child. There are a great many things that could have been done, and should *be* done, to make that transition easier. And, as unfortunate as it is, I do not want to be the one who helps to lead that charge. I did what I needed to do, and my part is over now. I will speak long enough to help convey my thoughts on how to set up such support groups, and give my input on exactly how isolated it feels to lose as much of myself as I did, and hope that will help them, to help someone else. After that, I no longer want to be on display, or be an example.

I never asked for this. I am told that I am a much better person now, than the person I was before. That is a good thing. I actually do not much like the person that I was, and am content to leave her behind. But none of that changes the fact that I never asked for it. And living my life, from the point of surgery forward, while trying to deal with people from my past, has been incredibly difficult. It has been painful, and trying and in some cases emotionally devastating. I walk blindfolded through a minefield, hoping that I am on the path that is safe, with no real way to tell whether or not I am.

No one mentioned any possibility of memory loss, before they cut into my skull. Hearing loss, lack of motor skills, possibility of paralysis. Not being able to speak, or read, or write. They even offered up possibility of dying. But nowhere in there did anyone say that they would take my memories away. Or that they would leave only the terrible ones. Had I known then, that memory is stored differently, good and bad, retrieved differently, or that doing the surgery could take it away? I honestly do not know what my response would have been. I most likely would have let them do it anyway. But at least I would have known what the possibilities were.

And I would have been better equipped to deal with what I deal with now. And they need to know, and understand that. Yes, they did a phenomenal job, and I have never said otherwise. I am alive, and grateful for every single extra day. But for every person who comes after me now, this is the reality they too might face, and a life like this is not simple, it is not easy, and it *is* something that needs to be prepared for the possibility of.

I feel empty, frequently. Alone when I look at people, and wonder if I should have memories of times spent together, happy things or times gone by that they know and I do not. I am solitary now, by choice, because being alone is easier than being with people and constantly questioning myself and feeling empty or hurting because of that emptiness.

The only people I am truly comfortable with, are people that are utterly new to me, that I know had no connection to me 'before'. I prefer my life that way, simply because it makes things easier on me. I know there is no hollow feeling inside of me, there is simply the knowledge that I can build memories with this new person, because there are no 'old' memories lost or shared. The few, rare, people who I am happy around reflect that. And not all new people are people I like. But there are some, and I appreciate them. Being "different" means I am not inclined to warm up to strangers quickly, and am uncomfortable with groups.

Groups mean the possibility of strangers who may or may not be strangers. The amount of stress I have been under for the last few weeks is the direct result of the huge group of people I will need to deal with at the beginning of next month. I know I can handle it. Knowing I can does not make it any less uncomfortable for me. It does not make it any easier, and it does not make me any less apprehensive. And I am simply marking my way through each day, until I can get past it, and close out that chapter, and then...what? That is the part I am unsure of.

After I come home, I do not know what I will be doing. I have spent five years, waiting for that day, and after it, I simply do not know what I will do. I will no longer be waiting, but I am unsure who I will be then. Still me, but what happens after?