Ruey
Legacy Name: Ruey

Full Name: Ruey, or so she thinks.
Age: Unknown, approximately 25
Pronouns: As far as Ruey knows she identifies as female

Orientation: Unknown
Occupation: Unknown
Other: When not watched, gets a bit into the drink. Has a British accent, unknown if it's an actual accent or induced from a head injury. Head injury also causes shortened memory span, seizures, and facial recognition isssues. In short, she's an amnesiac.

I don't own anything in this room. Though, really, I own nothing. I should have a cat, yet I'm not allowed to have him here with me. The clothes on my back. Not mine. This dank, cold, oppresive room; with its white walls, white sheets, white desk and white chair? Not mine. Paper and pen (in which I had to prove served no harm to myself) given to me by care takers. Care takers I have no knowledge of. Not of my own possessions in reality.

What do I have then? The power of languages? I suppose. A vessel to form coherency when I am able? The doctor says the act of writing and the connections my brain forms by doing so are still friends. Giving me a chance to think without it going haywire. So it's a small joy to write journals. It's a way to keep my mind going in one direct thought without losing myself and reverting back to emptiness. I don't reset as fast when I'm writing.
Usually, these journals aren't so retrospective. But the doc suggested I write from now and focus on the before. Try to find my way back to where I can remember my own self. What I am. My name, my age, my home country, my story. Do I begin with the hospitals? Do I begin with my cat? See! I already remember so many things. It's not been a struggle yet! The white woman? The rain? I should start with the rain.

...

It keeps coming down, like sheets. That's a saying so overused, but damnit it's right on. The windshield wipers flip back and forth easelesly, barely making a difference. I ask if it's going to let up. Turning my head to the right...

I'm drawing a blank. It feels like a nasty dream. One I shouldn't let into my head. Like my subconscious that knows exactly what I need to know, says: "Not today. It's too rough on ya, love." And I just shake my head and it's gone. If the words weren't on the page to reread. I couldn't have a thought to what it was about! But that's my trouble. See? Oh how dear writing is to me. A way to go back even if I'll just forget it a million times. Rain... so much about rain. Wet. So very very wet.

...

Stones are sharp under my feet. Where have my shoes gone? I feel a terrible pain, but I'm unsure whether it's from the cold rain or the stones. Lightning flashes and I get a glimpse at my world. A small hill of grass and rock. A fence with a road and no cars. My hair is whipping across my face and it hurts. Thunder. More lightning. The ocean behind me, maybe? Trees, so many beautiful trees. Thunder. Pain.

Well. I had to go to bed for some time. I had thought it was just a flashback but it was a seizure. I didn't pee myself this time, that's a bonus. One of the nurses said I ought to just be strapped into bed forever. It'd be easier. I want to see my cat.

Glimpse of hope write write about glimpse write name name name name write name writwritewritewroteweiteroy a road write write hope! Still there is hope, write my name! My name is hope? Hi mom just writing to say hi! Love you love you love you love you love you I have found a glimmer a glimpse of hope, I am heading writing write written love you have a wonderful new year love you write Roy Roy Roy Roy that does look right my names not Jane doe. A road Roy a French road Roy a joke. It's always been a joke name name who am I name Ana write name name name....

Turns out even writing has some challenges haha! Don't remember that blip. It looks like a roghteous mess! I laughed so hard at that note that a nurse had to check that I wasn't dying. It did come together I think. I don't like thinking about family. It leaves me cold because I can't remember. And no ones thought about me yet. Not that I remember. I'm afraid my family is always around me every day, but I can't remember. It makes me cry a lot. But I feel like I love my mom, my name runs in the family. But the joke is that it's spelled differently. In a French way. A French road is a rue. Roy... Ruey... doesn't that look right... I wonder if that's my name. Do I have any memories though?

A boat's horn cuts through the air. I watch a small boat teeter back and forth from the small waves. A car races by me as I stand in the middle of a road, now how did I-a three legged cat curls in my lap as I sit behind a dumpster my head throbbing so hard I see white. A tall woman with white hair, young though, steps out of a small car. Her eyes like ice looking right through me. "No one knows who you are, you're a mystery, we've searched all of the databases". Loud music drowns any noise as we walk down the street. Heels are uncomfortable on my feet, we are laughing as a young man bumps into me. Blood! The blood the blood the blood the blood! The ocean feels as vast as she looks. So lonely when you ride on top of her waves. How I'd love to be below, just so I feel less forgotten. But then, then I'd drown... I've already drowned once haven't I?

I had to take a break. It's been a rough couple of days. But the day on the calendar hasn't changed any. I don't mark off days anymore. The caretakers do that... funny them, I can never remember their faces or names. I have to look so closely! Not that they all look the same. But that's the issue, they can be totoally different shades of beige or brown. I can't remember enough to distinguish them. It's so so frustrating. None of them look the same! But they are all the same! I want new medication.

To be cont...