A Shoal of Memories

It's been over a hundred years since I had Old Cassius force me into hibernation. One hundred and fourteen years, and time has left me unsure of what drove me to such a place. I've slept more than a century, and like a drunkard waking from a long slumber, I find trying to remember what happened beforehand.... difficult. Like trying to grasp a shoal of live fish in my hands. They seem to have a firm shape, I can make out vague impressions of grief and despair, but I can't seem to keep a hold of any of them for long enough to make out the details. Some might say that those impressions are enough to know I should stay away from those memories. That perhaps it is fortunate that they evade me. I, however, cannot help but feel that something of importance lies within those memories. Something I NEED to know.
And so, we come to this journal. It is to be my tool in weaving a net for that metaphorical fish. I believe that, should I go over my earlier memories, I might be able to work my way forward and catch the more recent ones in the weave. At the very least, this is my hope and my endeavor. Time will tell if either or both are in vain.