Dementia

I’ve forgotten.

How annoying. I’ve forgotten what I’ve forgotten.

There’s just this odd feeling at the bottom of my stomach pit, that there’s this one important thing I need to remember.

Is it something I have to do? No idea.

Something I have to feel?

Something I have to think about?

There are just pieces and visions that don’t make any sense.

One moment, I remember a time when I was younger, not a care in the world. All that I thought of was about why the sky was blue or how soft fur might seem.

Then another moment I was placing myself in a world I was unfamiliar with, suddenly aware of my lack of awareness. I often wonder how long I was away, most times not thinking I was away at all.

There are times when I feel like I’m missing this part of me that can’t be any bother part that I see, but there’s this utter loneliness that a part of me is missing, repressed into the recess of my brain only coming out when the worst times come. I often forget but I’m sure I’m not at my best at those times.

I often remember times where I could consider myself happy. Where I could care less in the world because I had achieved what I wanted. Those are the times I don’t want to remember anything else. But oftentimes I do. I remember that there was a time after happiness and that there was despair after all that hope. A time of wakefulness after dreaming for so long, and like a bowling ball to gravity I slam back to a reality.

A reality I’ve forgotten. I’ve forgotten.

Nothing becomes real when we’re talking about memory. I remember so little consciously, but my brain remembers everything. Latent in the behavior, but implicit in the person.

Its odd how you’d wonder how it feels like to forget sadness and loneliness and revel at that thought that you’d think you’d be happy. But then you just realize you’re just lost and you’ve forgotten what everything means. Then it dawns to you that the only feelings left in not remembering thoughts and emotions is despair and frustration. A despair that is as much a satiety to life’s zest as it is a poison to one’s future.

In all honesty, I remember everything. How things are, how things were, how things should be. But I might as well be demented, because what it means, I’m sure to have forgotten.

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