The brain. My brain. Usually a brain is all gruesome coils and pumping nerves and zipping synapses. Not mine. My brain is a twisted mess of detours and road blocks and explosions. It is a difficult thing to understand, the brain, and yet the mind if often the most simplest of books to read, with the deepest meanings of all.
For most of my life I prided myself on my creativity. I could always focus a jumble of thoughts into one perfect and absolute truth. I could create success from failure. Humor from anger. Focus from confusion. As Dr. Seuss would say, I “looked at life through the wrong end of the telescope.” But somewhere my mind lost that skill- just as my brain lost its functionality. It was as though I no longer understood any of my surroundings. Like I could no longer control my own thoughts and emotions and movements. For the past ten years I have only felt one thing: trapped. Trapped in a broken brain with a mind that wanders aimlessly around, forgetting how to hold on to any individual purpose. Recently, I have been noticing that my wandering mind has now become more lost in its trapped self than before. I start one project and am on to another ten minutes later with no recollection of the first task. I cannot grasp from the depths of my broken memory, names and numbers and facts that were once only laying dormant at the tip of my tongue. I don’t know how it has happened. I don’t know why those dormant facts have simply disappeared. Thus, a new feeling is slowly creeping through the detours in my cerebrum: terror. Not just fear, terror. Real, deep, crippling terror. I have managed to get through life with a shattered and disconnected brain, but a shattered and disconnected mind is not something I am yet prepared for.