It doesn’t feel slow to me.
It feels like I’m being pulled in by the undertow over and over.
Into a dry ocean.
My thoughts are duller and they no longer fall over each other. There is starting to be space between them.
The level of oblivion I have towards daily life is something I have to try to sneak outside myself to measure. I have stopped cooking. I seldom use the car. I have stopped engaging with others unless I am directed to or am scheduled to. I know that there’s a lot of home improvement that I want to happen, but either it can’t happen soon enough or I don’t have faith it will happen at all.
The emotions I feel the most are impatience with myself for not being able to do anything right and regret when I hurt people.
The collection of memories and facts I’ve forgotten has outgrown its habitat. It needs an island of its own.
I sound like I’m drunk and people on the phone who don’t know me are put off by it.
And my brain is too thick with obstacles, too sick with HD, to be written about with any great insight by its owner.
What other people see is a slow fade.
But I can’t describe how fast I am becoming an empty vessel.
A remnant of myself, clinging to stay, bobs up every now and then.
Like a cork in a turbulent, empty ocean.