Was That…Allenmo...ville?

“We All Have Our Crosses to Bear” was the truism I used the day before yesterday that I repeatedly tried to conjure and couldn’t until today. Before that, it was the names of a group of women that I just met that I had to identify for a new job and struggled struggled struggled to remember.

Such is my plight: The Flight of the Proper Nouns.

But it isn’t just proper nouns. It’s a generalized fog that leads me to forget names, lose my sense of time, and lose information. The good news: I can buy fewer books because I can’t remember them, and a re-read is almost imperative.

Why is this happening to me and for how long? Of course, it feels like there is no use asking because I can’t remember how long I’ve been suffering memory impairment. But I am moved to ask myself nonetheless to try and pinpoint the reason(s) for my deficit.

Are the repeated manic episodes the cause? Are the medications the culprit? What about that ECT I had all those years ago? Or is it just plain me, that I’m just not the sharpest tool in the shed? My guess: all of the above, except for the sharp tool thing. I know what makes me dull isn’t me.

How do you cope with such a condition? There are a myriad of ways:

--Become a Writer. Documenting daily experience is helpful to combat memory loss. For example, right now I am at a Starbucks with my friend E. trying to put together a NAMI article. Prior to this, I was at Marina Village for a PERT (Psychiatric Emergency Response Team) training where I spoke on the NAMI panel. Putting this black on white will help me recall when somebody at the MHA (Mental Health America) luncheon asks me what I’ve been up to. (Or course, the person asking will be someone whose name I can’t remember.)

--Have a Sense of Humor. I often say in a lighthearted way, “I have a mind like a sieve” or “I can be a little bit ding-y.” I don’t say this in a pejorative (a word I couldn’t remember the other day) way regarding myself, but rather to keep levity in the atmosphere.

--Don’t Be Afraid to Ask…Again. “What is your name again?” has become a favorite phrase, and I’m not afraid to use it on the same person more than once, coupled with the previous expression, and smushed into one sentence. So it goes, “So what’s your name again I have a mind like a sieve?:(” It’s become a staple, and no one takes offense.

In spite of my coping strategies, the memory issue still causes me problems. For example, last night at the dinner table, my husband T. reported to our dinner guests that his friend had had his fourth baby. I exclaimed, “D. had his baby?” T. replied frostily, “I told you two days ago. We had a conversation about it. It was on Facebook.” T. has come to believe that the phenomenon is particular to him, that it’s personal.

I guess I’ll have to buy myself a bigger diary.