My Memoir Novels & Stories

My name is Catalina I live in Manhattan, I am 75 years old, I just got back from my monthly check up today, my doctor tells me, it’s likely for my memory to begin to deteriorate, I should be prepared to start forgetting things, before that happens I want to share with you my amazing story, a story I wish to never forget that is why I write it all down to begin with, it was the beginning of my end Do you ever feel like your life is on repeat?

It seems like his advice in strengthening my recollection ability works, because four days after starting the journal, I start to get more memories. These aren’t as profound as the one with my mother in it, but to me, they hold the same weight and importance. In one memory, I see my first ever bow and me practicing with it as a young child. In another, there is a woman braiding my hair as I sit in front of a mirror, wearing a light orange colored dress. It’s shocking to witness my younger face; it has changed drastically over the years. In that memory, I call the woman braiding my hair, ‘mother’. This is strange until I remember from my very first memory how my father supposedly remarried af

Then, he looks at me and asks, “I know this might be out of place, but may I know why you broke down earlier?” “Well.” The story is already on my lips, ready to be told. I look at him and all I want is to be honest, to tell the story about my heartbreak once and for all, but I know I should be more careful. “I have been having trouble with my memory. I got into an accident before I came here, and I’m starting to remember some things in the past, particularly about someone being dismissive of me,” I say simply. “Your words somehow reminded me of what he said to me, and that made me emotional.”

I can't help but stare at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth. What if I am indeed from Rema? Dissociative amnesia. I suffer from dissociative amnesia, so I can't recall my childhood memories. I didn't expect everything to be that complicated. I only want to find Shena, but right now... I'm at a loss on what to do initially.

At this hour, naturally, no one was setting off fireworks. "I remember the year you slid down from there," he said, pointing to a small hillside nearby. "You were crying and screaming. I was the one who pulled you up." "You have a great memory." I laughed softly. "I don't remember that." "Is that why, the moment you returned, you planned to stay away from me?" "What did you expect?" I gave him a glance. "Should I wait around to be killed by you again?" Conrad raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I've already arranged everything. I'm leaving in five days." Beryl Montgomery hesitated. "Can you really bear to leave this place? To leave... my brother?" I frowned. "Why wouldn't I be able to? I have no memory of your brother. Did I love him or something?" Beryl picked up my phone, opened the notes app, and handed it to me. "You loved him to death. Everything is recorded here—your entire five-year pursuit of him." I scrolled through hundreds of densely packed pages. My chest felt tight, as if a heavy stone was pressing down on it, making it hard to breathe.

Emily. Who was I again? When I woke up, I was lying in a soft bed. The warmth confused me. I couldn’t remember who I was. Who was I? I think I used to be just a wild kid from a small town. I spent my days running around, chasing rabbits and dogs, wading in the river, and getting tanned under the sun. And then? Then there was nothing else. All I could remember was how happy I used to be. I sat up, scratching my head in confusion. Where was I?

I ask suddenly. Maya pauses slightly. “You survived an explosion that nearly killed you,” she replies carefully. “Your entire life changed overnight.” “No,” I say quietly while shaking my head. “That is not what I mean.” The tension in the room shifts subtly. I lean forward slowly, my eyes fixed on her now. “The things I remember are emotional,” I continue. “I do not remember business meetings or conversations or places. I remember feelings.” Maya says nothing. “I remember tiny fingers holding my hand,” I whisper slowly. “I remember hearing laughter that felt important enough to break me apart afterward.”

About building a life from the ashes of one that was constructed by someone else. *We would like to discuss a memoir.* *Your story deserves to be told in your own words. We believe the world is ready to read it.* I read the letter twice. Set it on the kitchen counter. Looked at Daniel's monitor. The steady rise and fall of his breathing on the small screen. A memoir. My story. In my own words. I thought about the writing I'd been doing. The notes. The longer pieces. The attempts to understand by putting language around it.

I just needed her to stay. She was staying. --- The memoir was finished in October. Two hundred pages. Single-spaced. The story of my life from beginning to end. I printed it out. Put it in a box. Put the box in the closet. Laura found it. Of course she found it. She found everything. "Damon." "Laura." "You finished the book." "Yes." "Can I read it now." I was quiet for a long time. "Yes," I said. She took the box.