I am not me.
I am. I live in the moment. Forgetting my past is easy, probably thanks to my screwed up neural wiring. I know my story. I lived it. But looking back is like reading pages from a book.
I’m detached. I am not who I was. I’m reading lines from Shakespear. This horrible tragedy befell the main character, followed by many smaller tragedies, but they’re not even memories in most cases. The few things I can remember clearly remain vivid, but only a few still carry pain with them. So why am I here?
I can’t remember the past, but I can feel […]