Yesterday I was reflecting on my own life. How I've lived until now. I began to realize that I'm in some way leaving my past behind me in such a manner that gives a feeling of non-attachment. It dawned on me when I couldn't remember the name of a friend who I haven't seen in just a year. Or when I realized that I've deleted movies I know I've watched, but I don't have recollection of the content. Instead of actually remembering things, I remember shells of things. Like being able to remember the existence of a person, but not knowing who that person is. Or knowing that there was a book that I read about a certain topic, but if I open it, everything would feel new again.
But I'm just 23. What will happen when I get to 30? Maybe 40? My memories will just be shells of things I know I knew, but they're gone. People, books, movies, experiences, all gone from the core. Just the memory of the memory. It makes me wonder if someone so empty can manage to make it past 30 and still live without wishing every day to jump off a bridge because the past is a collection of non-things. Perhaps I will solve this before it's too late. For now, the past is being drained from the inside.