External Dementia

It started with a dream.

I had that feeling you get when a dream stays with and lingers for a while after you begin your day. It’s both cozy and eerie and reminiscent of that déjà vu feeling.

But if it started as a dream, it ended up a nightmare.

That first morning I started the coffeemaker before showering. My partner usually gets up after me and makes us both breakfast, and then I pack us both lunch. It’s been our system for a couple of years. But that morning, I walked into the kitchen to find my girlfriend eating alone.

“Hey, where’s breakfast?” I inquired. Callie looked at me confused like she was trying to remember who I was.

“Sorry?” she replied, getting up and backing away. I poured myself a cup of coffee and topped off hers.

“Meg?” she asked.

“Yeah, did you not make us both breakfast?” She looked around still confused

“I didn’t know you stayed over.” It was the oddest reply. We have been together four years and have lived together for three and a half–two in this location.

“I live here,” I replied feeling that I shouldn’t have to remind her. It hadn’t dawned on me yet that something might be wrong. I was confused now and made us both lunch and carried on as normal.

Later that day, I was retelling what happened to my work buddy because it was troubling me. That’s when I first learned about early onset dementia. Frankie was just kidding when he suggested it, but that idea planted in my mind and took hold as things progressed.

And they did progress.

Callie increasingly forgot that I lived with her which is especially odd because she never lived here alone. We got this place together. To make matters worse, she would get very defensive if I even suggested she might need to see a doctor. One way or another, I was tiptoeing about what I said to her.

But one evening, everything got worse. I was on the phone with my mom discussing this situation with her while Callie was in the shower because I didn’t want her to get upset by the conversation. My grandma had Alzheimer's and mom said what I was experiencing reminded her of what she experienced then.

Then there was a long pause in the conversation.

“Mom?”

“Who is this?” Mom asked.

“Mom?” I replied, “It’s me Meg.”

“Meg? My daughter? She doesn’t live here anymore,” she responded. Was she trying to show me what it was like with her mom?

“Mom? What are you doing?”

“Meg doesn’t live here. You have to call her home number.” Mom hung up and wouldn’t answer again.

“Hey, Callie!” I yelled towards the bathroom. “I might have to drive to Houston…” She screamed before I could finish, so of course I ran in.

“Who are you? Get out of my house?” I didn’t have time for this.

“It’s me Meg. I’m your girlfriend and live here with you.” I didn’t have time to beat around the bush so I stated, “You’ve been experiencing some dementia and have been forgetting things. However, I’m worried about my mother and have to drive to Houston tonight to check on her.”

“Why don’t you ask your brother to? He lives closer.” It was true. Mom lives in central Houston and Mark lives in Sugarland. It’s a 45 minute drive compared to my 3 hour drive from Austin. He later reported that mom was fine but didn’t remember our phone call. Though perplexed, I had to get up early and couldn’t afford to dwell on it. But that morning, is when everything changed for the worse.

Callie woke up before me and freaked out. She thought she got drunk and brought me home as a one night stand and wanted me to get out immediately. Like immediately with no time to shower, dress, eat breakfast, or make lunch. It was going to be a long day and I would need both as fuel to survive it. However, while in the shower, she called the cops who arrived just as I was exiting. She had already explained her side of the story and they were threatening to arrest me for trespassing if I didn’t leave. I had to show them the lease and my ID to prove I lived in my own house. When I explained about the possible early onset dementia, they looked very pitying at us both and went away. When other cops had to return that evening, there was no sympathy. Callie had changed the locks and gotten rid of all my possessions including the signed copy of our lease. Even after explaining what happened that morning and how I had proven to the other pair of cops that I lived here, I was forced to leave. They said there was documentation that the cops were called to the same address but no report to document what occurred.

“Fuck it,” I thought to myself and drove to mom’s. I was still worried about her and the next day was Saturday. It seemed like a great plan while I tried to sort things out.

Callie had a difficult relationship with her parents. I knew I had to call them but wanted to wait until morning when I had time to process what happened and compose my thoughts.

“Meg,” Mom said as she answered the door. “I didn’t know you were coming home from school this weekend.”

“Mom,” I replied. “I graduated years ago. Callie locked me out because she doesn’t remember me; plus, I wanted to check on you after last night.”

“What happened last night?” she asked, alarmed. “Wait, who’s Callie?”

“Mom, we talked on the phone last night about Callie possibly having dementia. You said it reminded you of when Nana had Alzheimer's. Remember?”

“Oh, it was so disturbing and upsetting to everyone! Sometimes she didn’t know me at all, and other times she thought I was a little girl. Or her sister when she was my age.”

“I remember some of that,” I said.

“Towards the end, she had fewer and fewer good days and felt angry and lost all the time without knowing why,” she explained.

“I remember how sad everyone was,” I said.

“It was a relief when she died,” Mom admitted. Deep down, I probably knew that but associating that idea with my 25 year old girlfriend was horrific. “I hope that’s not what is happening to Callie.”

“You never told me who Callie is.”

“Mom, she’s been my partner for years. We have holidays and vacations together.”

“Oh,” was all she said. I decided to call Mark who decided to come over.

“Hey, what are you doing home?” Mark asked when he walked in the door.

“Not funny,” I responded.

“Oops, is there an event this weekend I forgot about? My bad”

“No, I asked you to come over to talk about all this Callie dementia stuff,” I didn’t want to talk about mom in front of her.

“When are you going to settle down with her?”

“Are you kidding? You helped us move in together,” I answered, He looked confused.

“Nope,” I said and walked to my room. I needed to clear my head. I thought the odds were astronomical that both my girlfriend and mom were exhibiting signs of dementia at the same time, but not my brother too. If he was messing with me, I was going to lose it. I took a few deep breaths, checked my phone for any news of Callie, then went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. Mark joined me and started pulling out glasses.

“Hey, mom said you have been acting weird, and from what I observed, I think she’s right. Is something going on?”

“Um..yeah. That’s why I’m here. Remember how worried I am that Callie has dementia?”

“She’s in her mid twenties, what are the odds of that?”

“I discussed early onset dementia with you a couple of times now?”

“I don’t think so Meg. Have you started experimenting with drugs at school?

“What school?” I replied, exasperated.

“UT. Where you go to school?”

“I graduated in 2022!”

We stared at each other for a long time.

“Right,” he conceded as I poured myself a glass of wine.

Over the weekend, nothing got better. Callie’s parents claimed they never heard of me. Mark and Mom kept thinking I was home from college then staying in for the weekend as a high school student which had never happened. Monday I woke up early and drove straight to work. Before leaving my mom told me that I was forbidden to drive without a license. I agreed that I wouldn’t and left without contradicting her. It did no good. I would’ve just taken a day off, but I wanted to talk to Frankie.

“How may I help you?” the receptionist Lydia asked when I walked in.

“I’m just here to work,” I replied not thinking much of it.

I changed my shirt at my locker and got ready for the day. Frankie came in later as he worked in sales and the showroom wasn’t open yet. As a mechanic, we start earlier to work on the cars dropped off the night before. I waited about an hour for him to get settled then approached his station.

“How can I help you?” he asked as I approached. Upon seeing my company coverall, he stared at me confused.

“Damn it,” I thought to myself. He had no idea who I was. No one had any idea who I was. The other mechanics had been talking amongst themselves to my obliviousness about who I was and what I was doing. They hadn’t intervened because I clocked in and knew what I was doing.

And that was the end of my life essentially. I was later diagnosed with a rare form of dementia that affected the people around me and not me. Initially, I was kept in the hospital for safety reasons. I had to wear a label that stated who I was and my diagnosis because the hospital staff, including my doctor, kept forgetting about me. For months I tried to stay in touch with my family, but I wasn’t making any progress and each rejection hurt anew. I never heard from Callie again but saw that she’s engaged. To one of my oldest friends who also doesn’t know who I am. They’re a bad match. I’m not just saying that out of bitterness, though I am bitter, but I stopped hanging out with Jess because Callie found her personality to be grating.

Eventually, a place was found for me to live. It was sort of a retirement community that had a few younger people with various disorders that prevented them from living on their own. I had already been working remotely for a job I had found for a large corporation where pretty much everyone was a nameless and faceless employee. I was forgotten because no one knew me, and I could still earn an income.

When it was time to go, I packed my whole life as it was in a suitcase. I had clothes and a laptop to my name. Other than toiletries and such, that was all I still owned. At least it made unpacking easy.

I know there are two other inhabitants here with the same disorder but no one has ever introduced us. Like in the hospital, I wear a label and a bracelet explaining my condition. However, today, there’s a new face in the duplex next to mine. Another young person like me.

“Hi, I’m Meg,” I say, reaching out my hand.

“I’m Simone,” she replies, shaking my hand. She looks at my bracelet as I notice hers. Then we look at each other’s name badges.

“Hi, my name is Simone. I live in A13. You may not remember me because I have external dementia. Meg or Peter, if you are reading this, we are friends.”

“I guess we’re friends,” she says after reading my label.

“I guess we are,” I reply. I have no idea who Simone and Peter are.