My past is a cloud of uncertainty.

One day in high school, we were instructed to search the depths of our minds and find the earliest memory we could muster up. We took turns sharing. Most of my classmates seemed to remember their childhood. They spoke about their friendships in preschool and transitions into kindergarten. My stomach flipped, and my anxiety began to flare up. When it was my turn, I spoke about an experience I remembered from middle school. My teacher demanded I come up with something earlier. I couldn’t do it. There was nothing there. There still isn’t.

I cried that day, because I realized not only that what I was experiencing wasn’t typical, but also because it meant I was left without a past.

I have a severely deficient autobiographical memory.

Look it up; it’s a thing. Basically, what this means is that I can’t recollect past experiences from my own perspective. I rely heavily on photographs, videos, and others’ stories in order to “remember” my past. I never truly remember, though. I occasionally “create” memories for myself based on what I’ve heard or seen, but they’re always in the third person. In these fictitious memories, I’m on the outside looking in at myself. There are no emotions or deep thoughts involved, so it’s impossible to see it through my own eyes.

I recently dug out my stack of journals beginning way back in ‘98. As I read through them, I didn’t recognize names or events that were clearly important enough to write about at the time. Even with extensive details (I was always obsessive), I simply couldn’t put the puzzle pieces together to form a familiar image. I remember people I spent time with regularly, but I don’t genuinely remember anything I’ve done with them, where we’ve gone, or how I felt when I was with them.

As an adult, I still struggle to hold onto even the most recent experiences.

Over the years, I developed an obsession with photography, partly in hopes that I will be able to hold on to my fleeting thoughts. Sadly, it still doesn’t work. I have the most wonderful photos depicting outdoor expeditions, beautiful times with my partner and stepdaughter, and other events I couldn’t imagine forgetting at the time. How far back can I actually remember? A few months, at best. Even with Facebook flashing “this day last year” posts in my face, I can’t truly remember what that day felt like. I don’t remember what I thought or where I went. Sometimes, with external reminders, I can grasp at what I think happened or how I felt that day, but sadly, I’ll never truly know if I’m right.

This is an extremely important part of my never ending battle with my brain. It is unknown at this time whether or not mental illnesses are correlated with SDAM, but more research is on it’s way. I can say with absolute certainty, however, that this massive hole in my life certainly doesn’t jive with my mental state. For now, I do my best to record my life so I at least have something to look back at in the future. Still, memories slip through my fingers like sand. Maybe someday, I’ll have a way to hang onto a grain or two.

For example, I know I attended my cousin’s wedding. I remember the general premise. I know what I think happened (pieced together by overarching themes, photos, and videos), but I have no actual memories of the event. Any specifics I imagine are no more than tidbits of external influences.

Occasionally, I actually remember something.

The only way I know for certain is making sure this memory meets these two criteria:

1. I can see the environment around me through my own eyes rather than watch myself and my environment from afar. (first/third person)
2. I remember the specifics about what I thought and felt.

If the memory doesn’t meet both, I try not to rely on it. Unfortunately, the vast majority of my genuine memories are of traumatic incidents. I remember when my stress levels skyrocket, and when I fear for my safety.

Sometimes, I think I’d rather not remember anything at all.