It is the other me's face I see when I look in the mirror. Over the years
that face has lived two lives; first the other life, and mine now.
When my life was new there were no memories and no understanding of what I
could do or of who I was. To fill in the gap I relied heavily on the other
me's memories, and I quickly fell, over and over, because the other me was a
whisp of the past.
Her memories promised me that I had a life to go back to, but at every turn I
could no longer fit and didn't understand why. Other people made it more
confusing because they told me that I was lucky to be alive and that my
problems were not as bad as I thought they were. When they looked at my face
they saw the other me. It was years before I knew that, in a moment of time,
she had died and I had been born.
Stephanie St. Claire
May 5, 1997
written about life after a diagnosis of "minor head injury" after a basal