Secrets Left Neglected

Chapter 66

Tadgh

Having anosognosia is a very strange thing. I never realized the things I never realized until I got myself lost. Leaving my journal behind at the house was not a good thing for me. Missing my therapy sessions has not been good for me.

When I left the hospital, after being smacked around by that punk on the train, I knocked on the door of the recommended homeless shelter and soup kitchen. They put me up for the night, and the next one, and the next one after that.

I've since been moved on to another shelter which is known for assisting veterans. Earlier this week someone here was kind enough to give me a pen and a copybook so that I could begin writing again. I can't tell if I've regressed from the hit to my head or if I'm the same and just never realized how much time and effort Caoilainn and my doctors and therapists have been putting into my recovery.

It's difficult to even realize it all because without the journal and Caoilainn I have no way to understand my illness. Now that I can look at my notes, I can appreciate a little bit better, though I do miss Caoilainn.

I need to get to Jenny's Uncle's house. I spoke to a social worker this morning and she's going to get in touch with Caoilainn for me; to let her know that I'm ok. She even helped me fill a new prescription for my seizure medication. I'm holding onto it tight. I've missed too many doses already. I can't afford to miss more.

Now I'm in the center hallway and I'm having a hard time waiting for the social worker to come back. My nerves are a little raw and I feel on edge.

I have to do something.

I think back to the night before I left home. I felt more connected to Caoilainn than I had in months. I know we had a break through.

I really want to get better for Caoilainn.

I need to.

Acting on impulse, I grab my journal, pen, and the few belongings someone donated to the shelter for people like me. I stuff them into the bag I've also been given. I hit the head and then walked outside to take a short stroll around the city. I have to do something to pass the time while I wait for the social worker to return.

As I walk down the steps of the shelter, I look to my right and see a large field where some college kids are playing a game of rugby and smile. I haven't watched a rugby match since I left for the Marines. What luck in finding a game happening this close to the homeless shelter!

I walk down the sidewalk to get a better look. I never remember to sign out or let the social worker know where I'm going. I never ponder the fact that I've cleaned up my space in the home and have taken all my belongings with me and out the door. I don't consider the way it looks; like I've left for good as I walk over and sit down on the bench beside the field of grass.

A half hour later a headache comes on. I'm having a difficult time following the game. I keep losing track of the players and the ball. Movements are coming into and out of my line of vision faster than I can process them. I forget to turn my head and follow the ball like I've been taught.

Sitting on the bench, I lean forward and rub my eyes with the base of the palms of my hands. I hear a loud horn blaring in the city streets behind me while a dog barks incessantly in the background. A firetruck flies by, chased by adjoining cop cars. Their sirens blare and their lights are flashing all around me.

My legs start to shake and I'm aware of my body tipping over onto the grass below the bench. After that the world goes black and I'm sucked into a vortex of unknown.