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The Assault of Memories

The odd thing about being sick is that it makes you forget how you were when you were hale and hearty. In other words you feel as if you've been sick all your life. Which is why the flashbacks were weird. They were flashbacks of happiness. Now what was strange about these flashbacks was that they made me feel worse. Now I believe I have been obsessing quite extensively on the topic of memories and how they provide a room to escape into, a shield of sorts etc. These memories on the other hand had quite the opposite effect.

I have been having them for quite sometime now and they come upon me very suddenly. If I can compare it to visual sensation: normally flashbacks are triggered by something. It's more of a sudden plunge into the pool of reminiscence or a vivid flight of sorts, for a few moments that may or may not seem long. Then one comes out of that pool affected by the images/sensation that one might have felt and thereby changed by them one moves on and soon forgets them. However my flashbacks are very different. I don't seem to plunge into them so much as wade into them bit by bit, like a swimmer entering the deeper sections of a pool. Also they begin anytime and anywhere irrespective of a trigger and indeed, seeming independent of one. Finally, I am never snatched up by them into their vision and do not lose any sense of time while involved therein. It's more of a juxtaposition of sensory information (images, sounds, the emotions I held then and now etc) than an immersion.

Perhaps as a result of that juxtaposition, I emerge out of the shadow of these reminiscences saddened at their passing. The times gone by seem infinitely sweetened by their distance even though I distinctly remember feeling nothing of the sort at the point of their existence. Maybe I'm afraid of what's to come. Maybe I'm in denial. I don't know what the future holds and unlike ever before I'm scared of what may happen. I've never been afraid of the future. Yet now I stand poised at the doorway with my head turned backwards and my feet pointing the other way. My eyes look desperately back as they beseech the return of what they know can never come back.I wallow in self pity and fears rank odour taints me till I gag and can't breathe anything else. Maddened, I turn into an endless loop of pseudo-logical reasoning. It's a false logic because a circle has neither beginning nor end. Despite being aware of my malady, it is not sufficient to lend strength for a cure. I wait for some shadow of activity that might break the curse of idleness and death-like boredom and unbind me from these chains.

I need some activity. Fast.

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