I have this fear. It’s the fear that I will one day through some terrible accident wind up retarded. Severely handicapped. Unable to interact with human beings on any spectrum of normality. A total freakshow. Jogging pants tucked in to my socks. Red windbreaker. Money belt. A drooling, contorted 21 year old baby that everyone feels sorry for but hates to be around.
The worst part is the thought that in this state, my brain would be so damaged, so out of touch, that I wouldn’t even know that my existence is different or compromised. I would be completely ignorant to my miserable and inconsequential life and infact may even appear happy about my situation.
No. The worst part of this thought is that maybe somewhere, deep inside the recesses of my mind there is an inconsistency that exists but is silent. This shred, a remnant of my former self still intact, like the leg of a crushed roach still kicking. A nervous system reflex. This last piece of my sanity, crippled and cemented in a brick of a brain I am screaming. In here it is a prison, the only escape from which is death.
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