The brain surgeries have damaged the wiring that connects my factual memories and the emotions tied to them. Most of my memories are detached. I can only relive them through my writing. I don't, I can't, dwell on them.
To me, writing is a form of exploring who I am in the aftermath of the surgeries. Through my writing I struggle to understand what happened, to grasp the enormity of the bloody brain.
My memories are like a messy pile of snapshots. So messy that I have trouble sorting through them, to make sense out of them. Whenever I start to feel as if I am close to a resolution, the snapshots slip through my fingers and scatter across the floor. Writing helps me tidy up the mess.
In my writing I capture moments in time. As I write, I relive that moment, sometimes with joy, other times with pain. But by the time, you, the reader, live my moment, the pain is long gone. Once relived, I set my memories free into the world, leaving me behind, ready fro my next adventure, the making of a new memory.