Her Name Is Havoc

An excerpt from Caroline's journal

     I am in a state of ignorance. I no longer care to remember anything that my memory doesn't provide passively. Sometimes I panic when I remember I have holes in my memory. Like I have been robbed. But then I would think that some things are better forgotten. Oblivion can be a blessing regarding the things I've done. I once wondered if I am ready to know who I really am. Broken. Volatile. Mad. Self-hurting? If I hadn't known better, I would've believed the files and documents that called me suicidal. I am not suicidal. I want to live. I really do. I want to always be here for Silver. I want to see her kids, her smile, and her future. I want to be happy. I want to be successful. I want to be loved. There's a lot of things that I want. But sometimes I stop wanting, and that's when I lose track of time and memories.
    I was told to try harder. To focus on a specific memory and follow its lead. To try to tie two thread ends' together. To just rightly set one sole piece of the messy puzzle. And I tried. I swear I did. But at some point, I become very tired. I give up and recoil in my own safe places, deep within the vaults of my mind.
   Am I crazy? I suspect.
    What is it that I am supposed to remember? I once asked my therapist. He smoothly said "Everything." Like it was easy. Like I am not milking my head out. Like I am not struggling with piecing any single trace of data. I am craving the knowledge of what's hidden within my head, but why? What's it that I want to remember?

    I remember walking into my kitchen and picking a knife. I remember walking to my living room. I remember blank. Blood. Leo.

     But I stop remembering. It's hard to say if I can't remember because I've reached my limits, or I can't remember because I am scared to. I would hate to admit that it's a little bit of both.