I really don't know what to believe anymore. They told me to keep this damn journal to log in everything; thoughts, moods, feelings, people, names, anything to "bring me back." What the fuck does that even mean? Bring me back? As far as I'm concerned, at this point, I am who I am. I can't change what happened. Hell, I don't even know who to believe anymore at this point. New faces every damn day, poking me with needles, asking me questions, telling me who I am. Everyone is different every single day. Occasionally, there will be nurses or doctors that come in twice a day, but then I don't normally see them again for quite some time. They just sort of leave.
Except for this one woman. She is here every day as soon as I open my eyes and she stays until they close again. From the time the sun rises in the morning to the time it sets, she's sat here writing on sticky notes and putting them around my room.
You are Jennifer Jareau. You are 38 years old. You grew up in East Allegheny, Pennsylvania. You graduated as the valedictorian of your class. You played on the varsity soccer team. You were captain of that team. You graduated university and applied for an internship at the FBI. You work for the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico Virginia now. You are Jennifer Jareau.
Blue, yellow, purple, green. Almost every other colour under the sun was plastered in random areas around my room with these sayings on them all in the same handwriting. I truly am grateful for her trying to help me, but I really can't remember a damn thing. Not even one thing. She calls me something besides the name Jennifer, though. Most people who aren't nurses that come to visit me don't refer to me as Jennifer; it's JJ. Interesting… The woman who stays here all day says it's a nickname from the Academy and it's stuck.
Shit… What's her name again…
Emily? I think it may be Emily."