It's only ever just another day, til' it isn't.
Reflecting can seem that way; The less noticeable but not unmeaningful events seeming to blend more obscurely, when compared to the memories of events that stick out lighthouses.
Almost as if simple things that happened in our perspectives 'then', were deep and dark waters too coated by thick fog already too treacherous to navigate while we yet moved through their present 'happening'.
It's nearly enough alone to make you intuite how memory works. You can't ever actually 'fully' realize all so much from the revelation; That you aren't just figuratively but also literally building memory centered around what you focus on.
No memory is perfect. We remember personable things. Those to whom dates and times and events or the like are important, they'll remember those very things better than you or I. There is no such thing as a perfect recall.
Perfect recall would require: (1) perfect awareness, (2) perfect intelligence, (3) perfect knowledge, (4) perfect perspective, and (5) omniscience all at the very least. God has perfect recall; noone and nothing else comes even close.
The what of the importance of this all is 'un'-understanding some things. The types of knowledge, intelligence, perspective and awareness we do have are allowing most of us to make the most beautiful memories and dream. Most, but not all.
Too many building the wrong kind.. The kind of memory you want to build says everything about you. It shows you, less in its perspective but all in how you chose to remember. Nothing is more private, that could be less revealable, beside memory.
I remembered who I was, purportedly by a mind that had thought it knew, like I know I was washing windows to earn the last of the money I was going to need to buy the dress Kate had been wanting. (Window watching - you know. Nothing Ironic about me washing the same ones earlier, either.)
The most weird senses of nausea had already been assailing me over the weeks, and I would never feel bad but at times noticed a sensation like my body and will had some friction between them. To me-then, it was some starting sign Scoliosis was showing it's first protests at the ripe-old-age of thirty-one, no more or less.
Then there was the me-now.
Not unlike the before ascribed allegorical comparison of bright or dark memories, I had found myself in some state of 'between-ness'. There was no something that happened for this to occur: just one moment of a last swipe of a semi-dry microfiber rag down another panes edge, then I was sunken.
I didn't feel slowly or abrupty lulled, pulled, guided or anything atypical. The experience, if explained, was more akin to if a deep dream had replaced all else before me rather than aught else. No different than if I were 'just dreaming', every sense was different in that way trying to use conventional senses would have failed.
Proprioception was no method of moving 'there'. You could move around locally like something that resembled it. No, now I moved 'here' with proprioceptive like 'patterns', but to get to a 'there' one only need feel the interest and be 'there' then.
That was when the pressure started to escalate. I knew I was not dead- what I imagined however was myself in some state of being between life and death. Before that I had found myself moving at whatever perspective I had imagined.
Every of the first moments curiosities at perceiving the simplest and smallest of the bright constructs was overwhelming and awe-inspiring, but in their enrapturing of my mental bearings I had turned from what I could see.
Imagining myself as caught between sane-and-insane, life-and-death, good-and-evil, healthy-and-unwell, all in the struggle to piece myself back together toward whatever part of myself that had broken I began seeking some center.
Any concrete point to orient what felt like all of myself towards, I would have sealed myself to in that state if I'd known what I was doing. That was what I searched desperately for as I found myself sticking towards what would become some semblance of balance.
Looking at myself and seeing it more shadow than dark or light, seeing that as something concrete, I discovered percieving towards the dark and indirectly facing towards the light began a different kind of reaction than those before me.
'Senses' or sensations again fail here. If you can imagine what living with synesthesia is like when all of your predominant sensory equipment gets 'sort of cross-wired', maybe only by peering into one of their dreams awhile could a start at the decoding towards a 'sense' begin to emerge.
It seemed so very long. Purgatory? I was extremely aware. I had the wisdom of knowledge, and more fickle but useful intelligence. I had such profound clarity over my newfound thesis, I adopted to it wholehearted.
I remembered about everything.. Not at once like you would if someone said, "You remember when we put toothpaste in my older cousins ear when he was sleeping, that fall when he was drunk on the porch and it rained it down his sideburns?",or any crisp memory.
It was like they say 'life flashed' but over time, and in that time I found myself remembering life as if I was living it again, only the way you would if you were a broody and mopey, pregnant, and hormonal woman going through a rough break-up and alone having a panic attack.
At times my sense of fear would seem to try to interrupt all this with irrational arguments. 'Seizures. Strokes. Schizophrenia. Coma. You're a mind trapped in a body, with nothing more to experience outside of itself so all that is left is for the body to be the dream.'
It didn't matter to me, though, because even if that was true the brightest were saved for last. If this was death, destiny, fate, or the gates of heaven or hell, I had the most treasured of memories left to experience. This might be the last time they were ever experienced.
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The love of those I loved, my family and friends, everyone I met as if they were all there and everything good was with them happening at once. However they did not just feel to occur to my mind, my heart was all the more overwhelmed than my head ever was.
It was there, then. The there and then I found myself after this occurring. I was laughing and crying, far more the former and far less the latter. '-head, hurt, happening, how, heart, heal, here, hold, how, hope, happened. Hello.' My thoughts and pupils both swimming as if drawn in by innumerable vortices.
"Hello?" It was that kind of short-choked 'Greeting' that you'd only give when you were terrified of something or someone answering, and much too full of fear to be called a real one. But that wasn't all I could tell even still mostly disoriented.
A big man, with a baritone voice, and brandishing a broad weapon before him. Hearing that in a tone startled me into gasping involuntarily like I'd been splashed with the iciest waters known to man and the feeling seemed saturated even into my soul.
The only thing more terrifying than knowing something you should not? Being unfamiliar with 'what', not 'why' you seemed to 'suddenly' anything. 'Why' implies we understand there is a mechanism. 'What' however understands we are both unaware of a mechanism, or potential mechanations.
The ice cold water that seemed to flood my veins was my blood running cold with fear, and not even thinking I had transcended purgatory back to the world was enough to calm me if I was confusing 'knowing' and 'imagining'. No, that really was Schizophrenia, an overwhelming onset at that.
Being somewhat roughed up by the man you are hallucinating slapping you while you quite literally scream and shit yourself is one thing, but, imagining as well while it happens all of the benefits of coming into the world naked is another.
'Am I being born, or reborn?' I wandered. "Pull yourself together and gather your witts now, calmly." The heavy man who is holding me down by the chest I can not see the way I should. I felt him further away at first, almost like a solid thing made up all by the sounds and vibrations of him.
Up close it was different in that his seeming a grey-shades-mass before gathered more solid-and-textured quality when the sound of his breathings exhale and inhale and bodies mobile all at once were forming an optically clear form; but in the dark.
"It's moist, cool, dark, I am naked and you are holding me down now in my own shit. This place feels like a cave and I want to get out of it and find-whoever drugged me and did this has it coming. Oh and mister, don't beat me with that club, please?
"I'd rather you broke my neck if you go on and try to kill me." He'd given a 'humph' to my stating the obvious first. My next statements saw him backing off leaning down on me, but by the last one he was pulling me up.
A stouter, short-and-sure man who is pulling you up in such a sorry state does it fairly well, in that they'll be making sure to lean back and away from you and with more care than they would usually. Who would want to have to pull that guy up twice?
"You really dunno' how you got here it mean an Arcane-Awakening, and Stone-Sleep. People don't up and get theirselves drugged, dumped, self defiled, and waking up from it in the middle of nowhere with nothing." He
"They might not often do much, but my condition and medication leave me with this problem where if I get into an overly-anxious state, the reaction of my medicine inside me will change from calming me down to exciting me.
"It never happened before so I think it got way out of hand. I'm in no state to go out like.. this." I said, gesturing to myself without looking at my nakedness, even if I knew there was no way he could have seen it.
"Well if that's the case, might-be I can find you some clothes to wear, and maybe you could take them and head to the road. First things first, however." I ignored what seemed to be him readying that club to strike if needed. "State Sign, state Station."
"None, and Legand." When he started laughing his form seemed so blurred I was relieved. Relieved he hadn't been readying to strike, that this mental-phenomenon was giving out, and that the effects were winding down.
Guiding me ahead of him all those odd sensations disappeared, and that other oddly acute sensual awareness of him had floundered, fading altogether while he kept talking. "A Legand. Small wonder you wound up here then, though who would believe it if I did tell any.
Mostly I was relieved the non-sensical babbling and sensing had fizzled out. Some local or seasonal family might wonder which of them had been attributed to something none had done, probably nothing firsthand and most of all Kate would not hear of this.
'What's your name then, how the hell did I hear that as sign in station? No he'd said 'and' station. I'll take some time off after this one, bet your ass if I don't take a week off after this one. Kates already freaking and it's late as hell already.
'I see why they say to watch out for any severe stress with that medication. You give that shit one-inch trying to neat up a windows edge a couple times, and wake up five miles and five fugues away like the window was another world.
'I'm gonna sue the shirt off your back now, Doc. Yeah. No, no you made me shit my pants. Now, your gonna shit yours, too. Severe my ass.' Speaking of my ass. "Mister, there a creek or pump around outside I can wash with? If my girlfriend sees this I'll have no peace.
"That's about the last thing I need." "Err. A draw-well and work-towel are close to the stockroom. You clean up there and I'll find you something neat enough for your wearing." I nodded and not long after he didn't need to point out what came into view.
While pulling up a bucket of water, reeling it up along the hoist, I was really taking it all in. When had I kicked off my clothes? Where? Oh goodness where and when were never more important. No wonder this man came in here with a club. Who wouldn't?
What ungodly noises, words and acts had I perpetrated? None would be too terrible but I would be in an asylum just long enough for them to confirm it was the medication, it wouldn't be nearly as uncomfortable as washing my naked and soiled tail.
Sitting still for that cold water down my leg started me to shaking but it was less from the nakedess or water, and more for the remembrance of the fear which had all come back at once. 'Easy, Jack.' I started taking deeper breaths.
I dried off a bit quickly with the stiff and dry towel, whilst remembering that stress and elevated heart-rate might start a smaller secondary chain event and all the more since I was probably very dehydrated, exhausted, and over exerted of available caloric intake.
'Fear.' I woke up about the time I felt it and that was what had been trying to break me out of the fugue state. I had never thought to calm myself in all of my experience, which may nor have helped at all. Yet fear had been what I felt in waking, what cleared and sharpened me now.
I nearly moved to pick up the soiled towel, and use the cleaner side for warmth and comfort, but instead I started to pace about nervously. Frankly, I did not know whether I was coming or going pacing that lantern-lit cave-recess, who knew where.
Pacing around it and looking between the towel, the lanterns, the well and its antiquated hoist and watching that man return with clothes as off expectation upon him as those he had in his arms for me all at once had made the truth clear.
There had been more to that babble of his. There was no place near where I lived where there would be a cave like this, let alone a man near or in it. My mind just would not reject any further than the clothes.
I could only take them, thank him, and put my now alien body into regional garments, hopefully fit to the climate and season of this extra-terrestrial place. Once pointed towards the road I was warned 'Formally' not to return any time soon or at all, again.
There was no sleeping that night.