I know there’s things I’m missing, things that have been stolen from me by my own being.

That feeling of being left out, of knowing you can’t share your past with others and making connection almost impossible _is_ me.

It characterizes me.

Embodies me.

I don’t feel drowned, no, I feel blasted into oblivion whenever I try to search for things that aren’t there—erased from existence because I don’t have a simple thing.

I know it’s something so small, but I feel…inhuman. Is memory loss supposed to start this young? Is it supposed to feel like this? This emptiness.

I can’t remember my first day of school; my last day. I can’t even remember last year, what I did, what I didn’t do. I can only remember faces, bodies, smiles. No words, no dialogue, no scenery or smells.

And when I hear people, children, teachers, talking about their favorite memories, writing about them, I feel….

So I lie, I create things from my dreams and convince myself it’s reality. Is it a bad thing that it works? Sometimes I don’t know whether something’s true or not because I’ve told myself over and over again that it’s happened.

Maybe that’s why I’m a good liar. Maybe that’s why my own parents don’t trust me. Because of _me_ of who I _am_!

Or maybe I’m just thinking stuff over again.

Am I real…or is this all just a simulation?

Are my memories going away every time I make a mistake and am trying the simulation again?

I can’t connect. I can’t connect! They speak and ask: “Do you remember this?” And I say yes, I smile, shake my head.

But I don’t!

**I don’t!**

I’m too young to be like this! Living like this, right?

I should have more—I deserve more—than just stupid thoughts and remembers of faces and bodies and facial features and eyes and nose and lips, teeth, hair, anger, pain, sadness regret remorse tears blood tissue.

I want to feel, be in that memory. I want to smell something and know automatically where I remember it from; same when I look at things, feel things.

My body knows, but my brain refuses. It likes torturing me in such ways as well as others.

I want to look outside that window that disconnects me from reality, from interactions.

I just wanna be a normal fourteen-year old.