Laughter is all I can recall. Nothing of that day is clear but the laughter. Everything is a blur as I try to see images from that day, that supposedly wonderful day. The one good memory in my life and it doesn’t belong to me anymore. It is painful now, to try and recall that memory, so painful. The laughter haunts my dreams, teasing my unconscious mind with tantalizing glimpses of a time that is lost to me. How I wish that laughter would leave me be, let go its hold, and let me forget it.

Why must I be subjected to such exquisite torture, a torture of my mind? I hate what it does to me, making me seek endlessly for just one image, just one picture, however small, of that day. But, it is not to be. I am forever doomed to remember the laughs, but not the occasion. Everything I do now works toward forging new memories, to try and make myself forget the one I can’t remember. It is a paradox, and worse, it is my paradox. I can’t forget what I can’t remember, and it haunts me. What did I do to deserve this? Why am I the one who is hurting? Were there not others there that day? Why can’t they tell me what I am missing? But, I don’t remember who was there. If only I could hear that laughter again. I would then know who I was with; they could tell me what I am forgetting.

All of these thoughts flow through my head everyday and I never get any relief. I am constantly reliving that memory, replaying the laughter over and over again in my mind. But, why do I not remember anything? Am I maybe suppressing the memories on purpose? Maybe something horrible happens after the laughter dies away and I have locked it away forever in my head. People look at me strangely, when I walk around. Because of this, I have taken to staying in my house all of the time. I only go out when I absolutely must. When I do go out, I sometimes think I see sympathetic looks thrown at me from people I vaguely remember. It is disconcerting to say the least. Why would they pity me? What do they know of my troubles? They can’t do anything to help me.

I got a phone call yesterday. It was from my friend. He told me that I should go see a psychiatrist, that I needed some help. Do I need help? I suppose I do. But, I think that I would be better served to go to a hypnotist then a shrink. At least the hypnotist could help me regain my lost memory. But, still I sit in my house and think about the laughter. I don’t think I could make myself see a shrink. It would mean leaving my house and facing the stares. But, sometimes it makes me wonder what exactly happened that day.