(no subject)

Sep 19, 2010 23:08

I am now quite convinced that the root of my depression is - even moreso than my health - my memory. As a child it was always a gift, to be able to remember the scents and sights and touch and taste of places I'd once been. But the memories have stayed clear, even as my quality of life has decreased, and now not only am I confined to a bed in a body that ceaselessly fails me, as I lie there in my dying skin-sack, I'm smelling the ocean, remembering the feeling of my muscles lifting me up as I jumped, of being able to twist and climb and jump and run and laugh and enjoy.

I wish that I could somehow forget what my life was like before this Hell.
Previous post Next post
Up
[]