Creative Writing: Retrograde Amnesia

My vision blurred and my chest was pounding like the fists of a thousand demons wanting to reach my heart. I was beginning to think they had succeeded. My hands had turned to ice and I knew that there was no turning back, it was all over.
*
A few years ago, I longed for something. There was a horrid feeling of emptiness that enveloped me. Something was missing and it etched at my heart every second that I was not preoccupied. I knew that I’d lost my memory, but there was something greater missing.

I woke to find myself in an unfamiliar environment. Bright lights, white walls and equipment surrounded me. Multiple tubes were attached to me and a strong clinical scent overwhelmed me. I had been told that I had been in a coma for nearly four weeks, following a major car accident. That, however, was not what left me stunned and unable to respond. Retrograde amnesia was the condition I was told I had. A condition in which, to put it simply, all memories five years prior to the accident are irretrievable. According to my knowledge, I was twenty one years old, worked in an art gallery and lived in an orphanage. I was visited by May, the woman who had raised me and her eyes were red as she entered the ward, her cheeks stained. I offered her a reassuring smile to let her know that I was alright. It must not have been very convincing for

“Your room was demolished three years back so we could make the garden a bit bigger. Let me show you to your new room.”
I followed her down the hallway until we came to an oak door that looked like every other door I had seen in the building so far. She apologised twice more and I let her know that it was nothing to worry over. I knew that she wanted more from me, but for the time being, all I wanted was to be in my own space. It was like I was a new person, I was aware of it. I just needed some time to wrap my head around the situation I was