I wrote a poem about memory loss that comes from ptsd and the me I don’t know from a childhood I can’t remember

I’m sorry I don’t remember most of you
Most of you is gone
I’m sorry I don’t recognize you
And you don’t know me

When did you become I?
Why is there this big divide?

I remember happiness but I wonder how much is real
And how much is what I wished I had
Because memory fades with time
And evaporates in disruption
I don’t know your face.

What do you stand for
And why is it
That the answer is everything I try to hide
You’re fighting to be seen before you even knew what that meant
Cause you don’t recognize me because you don’t recognize pain
Yet
(As it should be)

I wish I could be more sorry
But I feel too empty to be filled with regret
I wish we never had to be locked away
That I never had to eat you alive
Just to make sure I crawled out to survive
I don’t know you
I don’t know you

I remember like it was a dream
So much and so little
Feelings.
The innocence of you is a longing of salt
The taste of my tears I no longer can cry
Thanks to the medicine.

Somewhere along the line you died
I can feel that grief within me
That must be the disconnect
Why I can’t remember
Is because we’re not we
You died.
I didn’t kill you but rather I was all that survived.
A newborn with scattered memories
Of being ripped away

Who are you? Who were you?
You can’t tell me, you’re gone
You can’t tell me. You can’t tell me.
You’re standing right there but you can’t tell me.
Flickering hologram, a mist mirage
I don’t remember but damn if I could
Maybe then something would be better
Or maybe it would just hurt more

I remember loss before I knew what it was. I remember love before I knew what it was.
I remember innocent joy before I knew it was innocent, before I knew there was another option
(That’s shame)
(Abandonment)
(Recognition that it’s gone)

I wonder why god left us to become two different people
And I wonder how others are just one
How did they survive as just one?
Do they know in the way that I don’t know you?
When did you become I
And why, why, why, does this divide
Cry

What
Is there
Left?
For me?
I don’t know what to ask of this stranger
Who doesn’t know me
And I don’t know you. I don’t.

Why do I try to look at you like a mirror?
And why do I feel nothing when I see you in the glass?
Why does my brain not categorize you as my reflection?
There’s a meaning.
It’s that I don’t know you.
This child.
Someone in the crowd. Easily lost, easily blurred.
A stranger who doesn’t exist that I don’t know
Made up of words and events I can’t remember
Who are you and why aren’t you me, is what I’d be asking
If I didn’t already know the answer.
Which is

I don’t know you.
And I’m sorry.