Many people don't believe me.
But then again, I don't believe many people.
Supposedly I was in some sort of accident, a car accident, in my new red convertible I had been given for my seventeenth birthday by my dad and a lorry went into the back of me. I woke up and was asking about who was in the water with me and all of a sudden I couldn't remember anybody.
Yet, before waking up, I remember the water, the black abyss, crushing down on my lungs, water jamming in there hard and fast, not leaving any space for air in my lungs.
I remember that hand. Fat and strong, definitely male, he had a wrist watch on that dug into the space below my rib cage.
Car accident, Drowning. Two ways to die that could be accidental or otherwise. Which ever life I'm meant to be in, I don't seem to have much luck.
But, over the past few months, as I have left the hospital and started to see a shrink who has promised my 'parents' he will get the old me back, I have began to wonder; is it possible to swap bodies? Or am I really just insane?
It would be a stressful event for anyone, a huge trauma, perhaps I am just going through some weird, very strong form of post-traumatic stress as all of the doctors assure my parents when they think that I'm not listening.
However, there are so many things that with each day, make me more and more sure that I am not who everybody says I am. The face I look at in the mirror everyday is not my own, the oval face and rounded features are from the Spanish-English mixture I once owned. Also, the nerves. Suddenly I'm of a nervous disposition, I mean surely you'd carry that with you, but my hands are clammy, my heart is constantly racing.
One more thing. I am completely and uncontrollably home sick. For two people, parents I'm sure, one with soft British accent, far from the stereotype the Americans that now surround me, always fake when watching a quintessentially British film. And one with a vibrant Spanish accent. I'm home sick for rain and for Yorkshire puddings, a good curry and an episode of Coronation Street. Yet, my parents haven't even heard of some of the things I yearn for and the others, they laugh at. I'm a Malibu girl, what would I want with rain, other than to ruin my hair and what is a Yorkshire pudding, isn't that carbs on carbs?
There's this other face.
Appealing in a very different way. Olive skin, dark hair. I place him with summer and I'm sure that he lives back with Papas family, Spain, I'm sure. I miss the paella's of the hot summer, in fact, I miss his paella's. He's a good cook.
But why the hell can't I remember his name?
So here I sit, in the shrinks office, sipping at cranberry juice when all I want is either Fish and Chips with double batter or some paella from my other home country.
I am fed up of hot dogs and white teeth and blonde extensions and turning on the TV to 'sitcoms'.
I wonder if my body died. But this seems even more illogical, surely the girl that will be missing her overly white teeth, her diet everything and carb free meals, is sitting in England, munching on Grandmas Yorkshire puddings and feeling depressed at the way the rain blends the colours of the sky.