I have a terrible memory.
I’ve been this way as long as I can remember (pun intended). I know this about myself and so am always fine (and actually really appreciate it) when people remind me about stuff. My family never tires of teasing me about it: I know it can be funny.
Why do I have a terrible memory? I dunno. Maybe it’s because I try to cram way too much stuff into my brain and the result is a general scattering of everything? Or it could be because I had a traumatic brain injury (TBI) at age 12, immediately followed by about five years of idiotic experimenting-teenager drug use.
Maybe I’m just lazy? Or maybe it’s because I’m so distracted by- Squirrel! All I know is, after a lifetime of this, I confess it’s pretty easy for me not to trust my brain.
I had a friend a number of years ago who, every time I told her something that I’d told her before, she’d say “Yes, you already told me that” in an annoyed voice. This quickly led me to feel hesitant to say anything to her just in case I’d said it to her before, and it definitely affected our friendship.
I’m sortof making light of this here, but I used to worry about my memory enough that I brought it up with my doctor. He had me meet with a specialist who, after running me through some tests, said that while I indeed have a less-than-normal memory, it’s not so far from normal to be something I should worry about.
So, that’s good to know.
I don’t want to present an exaggerated picture of this: it’s not like amnesia or something: it’s just a mediocre memory. If I write things down and put some effort into it, I usually can remember stuff. Mostly. (This is why I put so much emphasis on my beloved note-taking tool, Bear Notes.)
Thinking about this with my policy that everything has a silver lining if you just look for it: while it is frustrating to have bad memory, I frequently am able to be amazed anew by things I’ve heard many times before. And I can approach things with new(ish) eyes over and over again.
So if you catch me forgetting something, please don’t be annoyed with me. It’s not that I didn’t care enough to remember: it’s just me being who I am.
