I'm 47 and My Memory is a Threat to Society

I Am 47 Years Old and My Memory Is in Witness Protection

Let me start by saying this so nobody gets confused.

Yes, I smoke weed.
Not recreationally.
Professionally.

I own two businesses. One of them is a clothing line that literally revolves around blazz'n up.

So yes — I smoke like Snoop Dogg on a three-day weekend. This is not new information. This has been consistent.

What is new is the way my brain has decided to betray me at the worst possible times.

Because I am 47 years old, allegedly going through perimenopause or premenopause or menopause’s evil little cousin — I don’t know which one it is, but whoever it is, they are messing with my short-term memory like it owes them money.

And it’s starting to concern me.



The Thought That Never Makes It to the Destination

Here’s how it usually starts.

I’ll be sitting down. Calm. Peaceful. Minding my business.

Then — a thought appears.

A good thought.
An important thought.
A purposeful thought.

Something like: “I need to grab my phone.”
“I should look that up.”
“Let me go get that thing.”

So I stand up.

And that’s where everything goes wrong.

Because the second I leave the room where the thought was born, my brain says:

> “We don’t know her.”



I walk into the next room and immediately stop.

Why am I here?
Who sent me?
What was the mission?

I just be standing there like a Sim whose task got canceled.

No memory.
No clue.
No context.

Just vibes and confusion.

How the fuck did I get amnesia in three seconds?



Did I Just Forget… Everything?

And it’s not just once.

It’s CONSTANT.

I will retrace my steps like: “Okay… I was sitting… I stood up… I came in here…”

Nothing.

The thought has been erased like it never existed.

Now I gotta sit back down in the original spot like I’m rebooting my brain, hoping the thought respawns.

Sometimes it does.

Sometimes it’s gone forever.

RIP to whatever that idea was.



The Binge-Watching Problem That Should Not Exist

Let’s talk about how disrespectful this has gotten.

I will be sitting on my couch:
• high
• relaxed
• eating snacks
• watching a whole-ass crime show

Engaged. Focused. Invested.

Then the show goes to commercial.

And suddenly I’m like…

“What the fuck am I watching?”

Not the episode name.
Not the plot.

THE SHOW.

I forget the NAME of the show I am CURRENTLY WATCHING.

I’m staring at the TV like it betrayed me.

Is this Alzheimer’s?
Is this early-onset dementia?
Or is my brain just running on Windows 95?

Because why do I need the show to come BACK from commercial for me to remember what the fuck I was enjoying?

This feels aggressive.



Google Maps Is My Emotional Support App

Now let’s talk about driving.

I have lived in Kansas City my entire goddamn life.

MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.

And yet.

I still use GPS.

Everywhere.

Not new places.
Not far places.

Regular places.

Why?

Because my brain refuses to retain directions like it used to.

Also — highways give me anxiety now.

If I can’t get there using:
• 103rd
• 95th
• 75th
• or 63rd

I’m not coming.

That’s it.

If your location requires a highway, a ramp, a merge, or God forbid a decision....
send my love.

I will not be attending.

Because I WILL forget where I’m going, miss the exit, panic, and end up in a different state.



Weed Is Not the Only Culprit (But It’s Definitely in the Lineup)

Now listen.

Yes — weed plays a role.

But let’s not act like it’s the only suspect.

I also have:
• anxiety
• PTSD
• a nervous system that’s been through some shit
• and now hormones doing parkour

My brain is managing:
• trauma
• creativity
• business decisions
• survival
• AND remembering why I stood up

That’s a lot to ask.

So when my memory taps out, I try not to be mad at her.

She’s tired.



The Part That Really Gets Me

What pisses me off is this:

I am still sharp.

I can:
• run businesses
• write
• problem-solve
• read people instantly
• remember shit from 1998 with perfect clarity

But ask me why I walked into the kitchen?

Absolutely not.

That file has been deleted.



So Here’s Where I’ve Landed

I don’t think I’m losing my mind.

I think my mind is prioritizing.

And unfortunately, it has decided that:
• random thoughts
• quick errands
• and unnecessary directions

are no longer worth storage.

Honestly?

Fair.


Final Thoughts From a 47-Year-Old With a Disappearing Train of Thought

If you see me standing in a room looking confused, don’t ask questions.

If I forget what I was saying mid-sentence, let it go.

If I pull out Google Maps to drive somewhere I’ve been 300 times?

Mind your business.

I’m not lost.

My memory just took a smoke break without telling me.