It’s probably safe to say that; aside from what comes of satisfying curiosity (I’m torn between pity and contempt for the incurious), much of the world is mundane, meh, ho hum. It’s like a static background for a real-life graphical interface we call experience.

I am a collection of atoms organized in such a way that, for a short time there can exist; another version of subjective and quite virtual reality …and disappointment.

I’m slowly but surely losing my identity, that big set of abstract nouns that informs on why you do, or don’t – do stuff. This could be because of: Severe depression, early onset dementia, multiple TBIs and cerebellar cognitive affective syndrome but the one that worries me is hepatic encephalopathy.

Anhedonia is the millstone around my neck, I’ve forgotten what hope feels like and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I feel like the missing parts of me are already dead… Whether the dead man at the bottom of the stairs tripped or was pushed, matters not to the dead man at the bottom of the stairs.

There are things that inspire me sometimes, this usually wears off after a few days or weeks, or as soon as I see what’s behind an illusion.

It’s only 6:00  AM and it’s already a bad day. I’ve been wavering between wishing I wasn’t alive and dreading the results of tests in four days that may be explained to me by being told, “You have about 8 to 10 months to live.”

Either way, in the last decade I’ve almost lost everything; both material and familial. I’m penniless,  lonely and very sad.

A bad day in an ugly world. I take some small comfort in knowing that no one is likely to read this.



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