I have very few memories of my childhood, especially my early childhood. Those I do have are very fuzzy. I know more about myself as a child through things people have told me than I do through my own memories. Sometimes this bothers me.
I've written things and then completely forgotten that they exist, only to be surprised by their discovery weeks, months, years later.
I am constantly forgetting what plans have been made or what people want for their birthdays or even when their birthdays are. I ask the same question more than once, because I've forgotten the answer.
None of this is terribly unusual; people forget things all the time. Many people are absent-minded. I do not think it is a sign of incipient mental illness (particularly as my absent-mindedness, while it is certainly not decreasing, does not seem to be increasing either). But when I am around people with good memories, it sometimes makes me sad that I don't have the same kind of vivid attachment to my past. It seems as though my past is much more distant than most people's -- more misted-over, as it were. I have a few facts, a few images, and I latch on to those as if they were a more complete picture. I don't really know much about myself-that-was. It feels like a loss, sometimes. A lack. Am I not complete without my past?