We live in a G R E AT country.


It’s insanity but not the (laugh, ha-ha) funny type of reality or even the fearful kind. It is the sick twisted kind of insanity, the sane insanity. I knew nothing of my actions prior to first waking up in the hospital, not distinctly at least.

Picture all of my memories as files and my head the cabinet holding them. Now when my head came into direct contact with the cedar tree at some speed over 65 miles an hour, files were metaphorically strewn all over the road. They were as warm feelings, except, feel I could not.

Emotional blindness was and is the natural hell-hole I found myself in, outwardly being a seemingly normal 25-year-old gentleman but inwardly a mess. A ticking time bomb that had already gone off yet at the same time waiting to explode. Emotional blindness means exactly what it sounds like. You picture an emotional blind man crying while running into walls. Which would be half-right, my “mental-boy/man” seemed to be stuck in a maze running into walls but, cry I could not.

Eight years into the “ordeal” some tracks have lined up forming trails, of a sort. Taking them and mixed with what I know to be true about my past. Tells me, minus the moments that weren’t, that almost every moment was spent trying to be something I wasn’t. I was some degree ashamed of my recollection of some of my actions, but then it came to me. There is no difference between me and everyone else, it’s just that I lost a more than couple time. Then gave up, mentally shrugging my shoulders and becoming too acceptive choosing to be a follower instead of a leader.

A follower did not suit my upbringing from what I’ve been told of it, for I had one of the most normal childhoods. My mother, who was my father too, had settled in the notion of raising a child up on her own. A thing she had settled in her head to do after my earthly father had neglected to. Not that he cheated on her or abused her either mentally or physically, but they separated getting a divorce. My memory of the kind of man he was is not tainted by tales of horror or anything of that sort. For that matter,  at my first wake in the hospital, I didn’t even remember ever having a father. Even now being ten-some years into my situation don’t remember anything BAD, BAD minus the fact…


Holla at me.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s