Disclaimer: Smallville is not mine.
My name is Chloe Sullivan.
I'm getting married.
My fiancé's name is Jimmy.
I repeat those sentences to myself over and over again. They are comforting because I know those things. There is nothing that is fuzzy about those three thoughts. They are very clear in my head. I like thoughts that are clear in my head. I hang on to the things that are clear because there are too many thoughts that flit through my head that have nothing of clarity about them. They come and go. They feel wrong - like pieces of them are missing. Some things are just gone. Some things seem to have disappeared but come back when I fight my way to wherever they are hiding in my brain. Other things come in bits and pieces like the connections that should have led from one thing to another have gotten crossed or misdirected.
I don't know why. I don't know the why of a whole lot of things.
I know my name is Chloe Sullivan, but I do not know why I don't say it the way I did when I was younger. Those words used to be accompanied by the flashing of a press pass and the name of my paper. There isn't a press pass in my possession any longer. There is no longer a paper that is mine. I don't know why. I mean I intellectually know why, but I don't know the real reason why. I know that I was fired, but I can't remember the details. It's like there is some sort of a disconnect between my emotions and my memories and some of the things that I know are like knowing the facts out of an article or a textbook instead of knowing them like they happened to me. I remember wanting to write. I remember wanting to look for truth. I remember believing that answers were important. I just can't feel it. I cling to the fact that my name is Chloe Sullivan because it gives me a label even when I feel like there is nothing inside my head that I can attach to and have it feel like me. Knowing I am Chloe Sullivan means I do have a past even when I don't know what it is.
I know I am getting married, but I'm not sure how it happened. Obviously, I know that I was asked and said yes. I know that there are plans being made. I know that I agreed to them. I know that there were details that I picked. I know that I keep my mouth shut about all of the things that have gone wrong. I know I spend more time redoing things and keeping other people from noticing that I am redoing them than I do in the company of my actual fiancé. I haven't told anyone that I redid the invitation envelopes at least three times (I say at least because sometimes even that slips into the fuzzy areas of my brain and I don't know for sure that there weren't more revisions) because I kept messing up both the lists and the addressing. I would find myself staring at a column of names while wondering why I did not recognize any of them. I would find myself addressing envelopes to people that were not on the list at all. I know I wrote at least two envelopes for the place where Pete used to live before I remembered. My fiancé saw one of them - he didn't recognize the name. I almost panicked that I was not just forgetting things but remembering things (or people) that had never been in the first place, but I dug out a yearbook and reassured myself that he did exist. I traced my fingers over the inscription and his signature while I told myself that he was real. I can remember that. I can also remember the next day when I stared at that same year book for half an hour while I tried to remember why someone named Pete had been taking up a half of a page in the back of my freshman yearbook. On days like today, I can remember both of those things at the same time. That doesn't help with my emotional disconnect from my memories. I keep making plans. The wedding plans have lists. The lists have checkmarks. Even if I have to redo them, I still feel like I am managing to accomplish something. I cling to the fact that I am getting married. It makes me feel like I have a future.
I know my fiancé's name is Jimmy. I make sure there is always a picture of the two of us somewhere close by when I go to sleep. I know his name, but I know there has been at least one occasion where I did not recognize him. I think there may have been more, but I don't know that for sure. It's another reason that I have redone so many of the wedding plans. I don't always remember things we have agreed on or things that he does or does not like. Sometimes, it's awkward. Sometimes, I wonder why it is that I don't just tell him when things like that happen. Sometimes, I even stop pretending that keeping things from Jimmy isn't sometimes the most familiar thing I feel. Somewhere along the way he chose me. Somewhere along the way I chose him. I cling to the fact that my fiancé's name is Jimmy. It tells me that someone else still sees me even when I can't see myself.
Those three things seem to be the only consistently remembered items in my repertoire. Everything else is suspect. I had to stare into the mirror to remember the color of my eyes. I know I have gotten lost trying to find where I live at least four times. I dialed and listened to the number not in service message every day for a week before it clicked that my dad was not going to answer the cell phone that he had carried back when I was in high school. This is my normal. This is my day to day.
I'm trying to be okay with that. I kind of have to be. The alternative is to what? Live my life completely focused on the gaps and discrepancies while I miss out on even more? Lose what I have left trying to find what it is that is already gone?
I have three things that I know for sure.
My name is Chloe Sullivan.
I'm getting married.
My fiancé's name is Jimmy.
This is what I have to work with - it's going to have to be enough.