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The Diary
PG. 1
I diagnosed myself with short-term memory problem. These days, I seem to be having a hard time recalling names, places and events that has happened in the past. I read a good number of books but if you ask me the names of the characters, who wrote them, and what's the title? I tell you, I would freeze trying to run my brain into autosearch mode. It tickles when I try to remember, literally. Something inside me tickles when I try to rack my brains for answer. Not remembering, I don't know if it's a fortunate experience or a trouble.
I can't remember the things that has happened yesterday or the day before that. It seems to me that my brain has been set to automatically delete any information it deems irrelevant—meaning, every single day of my life has been too trivial my brain decidedly throws them to trash.
Well, who am I to argue with how my body works, and how it's trying to preserve itself. I, for one, doesn't have any right. I have been ignoring myself for quite too long. My body is just doing its best to step up and be the mature one. My senses dulled together with my life. I failed big time in taking care of me and I am afraid it could already be too late. I've been spending my days a lot in bed. I don't think. I don't think deep. And I am scared it could be a problem. I can't think. Of the future, of the past, I don't know. I just, I just live today without being present. And I know I should be scared, but that's the scary thing, even the fears have dulled.
©Oli Pender
I diagnosed myself with short-term memory problem. These days, I seem to be having a hard time recalling names, places and events that has happened in the past. I read a good number of books but if you ask me the names of the characters, who wrote them, and what's the title? I tell you, I would freeze trying to run my brain into autosearch mode. It tickles when I try to remember, literally. Something inside me tickles when I try to rack my brains for answer. Not remembering, I don't know if it's a fortunate experience or a trouble.
I can't remember the things that has happened yesterday or the day before that. It seems to me that my brain has been set to automatically delete any information it deems irrelevant—meaning, every single day of my life has been too trivial my brain decidedly throws them to trash.
Well, who am I to argue with how my body works, and how it's trying to preserve itself. I, for one, doesn't have any right. I have been ignoring myself for quite too long. My body is just doing its best to step up and be the mature one. My senses dulled together with my life. I failed big time in taking care of me and I am afraid it could already be too late. I've been spending my days a lot in bed. I don't think. I don't think deep. And I am scared it could be a problem. I can't think. Of the future, of the past, I don't know. I just, I just live today without being present. And I know I should be scared, but that's the scary thing, even the fears have dulled.
©Oli Pender
