Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“I really wasn’t that into the guy.”
“You dated most of college!”
“On and off.”
“Joey.”
An innocent shrug is given.
What can I say?
Attaching to people for long periods of time isn’t really my thing.
Blame foster care.
You learn better than to become tied to something or someone you can’t let go of quite quickly when you’re ripped away from shit again and again.
Hurts a lot less when you willingly just go.
Which is easier when there’s little to no emotional investment involved.
Like there was when I was dating Kenneth.
“I assumed that whole thing would’ve caused an episode, but it didn’t. Yet not hearing from me for a week while I was on that cruise – that you knew I was taking – had you treating me like I was some rando who just wandered into town from the big city versus your best fucking friend of all time.”
“Was adding ‘of all time’ necessary?”
“Absolutely.”
“Not.”
“My point is-”
“I like points.”
“-that while I can suspect and typically Halmark Holiday predict when something might prompt your ‘shut down and temporarily remove from brain' response, I’m not always accurate. However, just because I’m not always snowin’ a thousand doesn’t mean I’m not always as prepared as I can possibly be.”
“Meaning?”
“The same way you like to leave yourself a digital trail of memory in hopes of combatting this issue, I started doing it, too.”
Curiosity crinkles my forehead.
“You know how some people with your condition physically run away or get lost due to their disorientation?”
“Yeah.”
“You do this digitally.”
“What?!”
“Yeah.” Her hands fold together on the square table in front of her. “See, when we first learned of your condition back in college, your response – because you are who you are – was to be proactive instead of reactive. This is what led to you keeping meticulous records and digital notes and digital journals and emails.”
“So far I’m with ya.”
“But that big, beautiful, begging to be studied by the medical community brain of yours began working against your protective measures you set in place to shorten the memory loss period. During what I refer to scientifically as ‘the in-between stage’ of an episode-”
“Is that really scientific?”
“-you will delete anything and everything that can possibly tie you to whatever set you off, which has in turn led to me basically playing bestie backup by screenshotting old texts or photos from your soc’ or saving emails to assist in the reminder process.”
“I mean…I kind of know that’s why I forward you legal documents to save for me, especially for work or medical shit, but…” Discomfort darts its way around my ribcage forcing me to readjust myself in my seat. “If that’s true all around – like for my personal life and stuff – then why is this the first time we’re talking about it?”
“It’s. Not.” Berks lets one hand dive into her purse beside her. “We literally have this conversation pre-cursor every time you have an episode, and it’s time for me to present you with what I know about it because this exact sequence of events falls directly into the ‘can trigger’ the memories to fully return column and if done too soon – as you know – another episode will occur.”
“What?! We have this convo every time you’re gonna fill me in?!”
“Every. Time. Down to the exact examples I use.”
Forfuckssake…
“Your brain – which again is a medical marvel – is a creative bitch when it comes to protecting you from whatever it subconsciously deems necessary of protecting you from.”
Have I mentioned I really hate living like this?!
“Just know if you ever do decide to let them study you for a medical journal,” my best friend pulls out her phone and keys in her password, “I expect a portion of the compensation as like a finder’s fee for setting you up.”
Good natured giggles freely leave me. “You’re like Clint from Spirited you know that?”
“Delicious and charming?” She shoots me a sassy wink. “I’ll take it.” Her device turns in the palm of her hands to be on display to me. “And Ryan Reynolds if Blake ever wants a divorce.”
Additional amusement gets me shaking my head again.
“This,” Berks gestures to the attractive older male in the photo, “is Dr. Marc Cosgrove, your most recent ex-boyfriend.” Her index finger scoots over to the other person in the picture. “And this bundle of adorkableness showing off an engagement ring is his fiancé, Kenji.”
Seeing the two in a loving embrace should conjure up an emotional response.
It doesn’t.
“You met Marc,” she points once more to the salt and pepper bearded man, “at The Frost Luxury Hotel Bar when you first arrived back in Dalvegan at the beginning of April.”
While I don’t exactly have a “home base” so to speak, this is where I come back most often because it’s where my PCP, neuro, and lady doc – responsible for giving me my quarterly birth control shot – are all located.