If we are not being what we say we are, then we are not authentic, or as Robyn Moore (The Power of The Word) would say, we are being a fraud! Some days, dementia makes me feel as if I am not being authentic to myself, as I start towards a new thought or a new project, then have no memory of what the hell I was intending to do, write about or even think of! There are moments when all I want to say is Dementia is such a shit of a disease! No, not a pretty word, Dementia! Authenticity is yet another thing dementia is trying to steal. How dare it? How fucking dare it? It makes me feel like a fraud. It makes me feel as if I have plagiarised myself. My husband assures me he sees me tapping away at my trusty little pc, but not always remembering this simple joy is a real pain in the arse! How the hell can I be authentic, feel authentic, act authentic, when I can’t remember the last few moments, hours or days? I can’t remember the history of my life, my friends, my family, or the moments that make all of those times and relationships special. WTF, this is not what I call fun! And yet, the will to go on, to seek the lessons in this experience, remains strong.
Sharing this with you, opening up my world of despair, with a snippet of foul language, is not meant to offend you. This spewing out of how I feel right now is to remind me during the good moments that it is ok; this mad, cross blog is a guide or marker for gauging how much better it is during the good moments. You may think I need the swear jar, but today, right now, I don’t care if the F words offend you. I sometimes use the C word too, the word that provided me with the knowledge some of my friends had nicknamed Snobby bob girl once (but that is another story!!! ). Dementia offends me, and the language I might use to describe how I feel about how much Dementia offends me can surely only help you understand the depth of my anguish. On my good days, in my good moments, I dive into denial, not the type of denial that doesn’t accept reality, but the one that allows me to slip into a bubble that hides the truth for a while, gives me the energy to keep facing the future, when the denial bubble bursts. This bubble lets me take a rest from what is happening, from the fact that I don’t know if tomorrow, I might slip into the twilight zone, and that right now, I have a terminal illness.
Some days it feels as if I am only living in the future, not the past or present, as I often can’t remember them. Sometimes I can’t even remember the future, as I’ve forgotten why I’ve gone somewhere. Blogging allows me to transcribe the scribblings of my notebooks and post it notes, and turn them into words offering me memories and meaning, and authenticity. Being authentic is important to me, and the placing of words on pages for the world to view is the soundest motivator ever that I will try to live up to and honour what I write. As I write, I am being authentic. You are hearing my truth. You are listening to my soul. To write truthfully, with love, integrity and authenticity, is perhaps, all I have left?