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[14 Jun 2008|12:17am] |
Sometimes I try to remember what like was like when I was a kid, and to try to rake back some of those memories. For a greater understanding of myself, perhaps. Or just to remember. As I get older, and I lay in bed, I can hear my heart beating. I think about how it's so finite, a beating blood fuelled timer. I thought about it one day stopping, the terrifying finality. That day when no more will I move, when the light leaves my eyes and every breath stops.
I don't fear much apart from time and death. It's not that I fear death because of death being the end, because where life sprang up so easily in me, it shall do again somewhere else. I am not religious, at all. But I do believe that my existence as a conciousness is for a reason. I am aware, right now. Thinking. About this. I sense and touch and inhale. I am not you, him, her or they. There has to be a reason. What a curiosity it is simply being alive. Frightening too when you realise how short it is. I am thirty one. I shall never be thirty one again. I am facing, like anyone else, the inevitability of the end.
But the end of what?
I guess we all find out. It's the strangest truth to me. One day, I simply won't exist.
I'm not excited by writing at all at the moment, and i'm not really very good at it because of this, but i'll try to remember some childhood things. Just so I can build up my life from the ground up, work out where I am, while I still can. Even now history is hazy. I recall nothing but small snatches, of bleached walls and endless alleys. When i was so small I couldn't see over hedges. I need to do this, for me. Perhaps when I write about it, i'll get something out of it. Something to study.
Let's see. I sometimes think I remember being born. No really. People always say to me, it's ridiculous, no-one could remember being born. The brain isn't developed enough, the eyes are closed. Well, I remember something. Like I said, it's indistinct, surreal, blurred. Like a different world, another life. 1976 was the hottest summer for years, apparently. I never did like hot summers.
I thought I saw a light. Whether I did or if this is just a dream I confused with birth, I don't know. It certainly intrigues me, the exact point at which I became aware. I think it becomes easier to remember things as you get older, because the brain develops. I, of couse, have written a diary for five years, so it's easier to give the brain a reminder when I want to remember something.
I don't remember a lot aside from being in a cot. I remember a cot. I'm fairly sure I remember that. After that, time swirls and dissipates into static, like a detuned television. The first real memory I have is being very young and living in our house in Milmead Housing Estate. I must have been about three, or four. I don't know. I started to have nightmares. I would find myself trying to flee the attentions of a sentient teddy bear with glowing red eyes. It would chase me through the dark at the top of the stairs, and I would try to flee down stairs. Terrifying.
I became convinced that the reason for this was sleeping with my head to one side. I would lie in bed, moving my head from side to side to try and shake the demons out of my head before I slept. It worked, to an extent.
I'll do more of this tomorrow, perhaps. I'm too tired now.
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