I walk the hospital grounds every day now that I have begun to recover. I try to keep the days straight in my memory. But it's almost impossible. The grayness of the place is overwhelming. I don't think there's been a day when the sun has been able to penetrate the heavy fog lying over the buildings and walks. Toward evening it gathers around the tree trunks creating disembodied shapes. I don't know who I am. But I must remember something because I question the importance of having an identity. I imagine that an identity places a responsibility on the person it defines, a requirement to act within certain boundaries and in certain ways. Without one, I may be anyone or everyone all at once.
They tell me that the hospital, has put out bulletins that have circulated nationwide. I don't seem to care and never ask if they've heard from anyone..
Now and again I have thoughts from an earlier time. Sometimes they are clearly my own. At other times they seem to come in another voice -- cold, fragmented ... frightening.