Ailing

I am losing myself every day. I used to jumble words, usually nouns, in my head. Now I sit in front of the computer not quite sure why I am here, what I’m supposed to be doing and how long have I been sitting here struggling to figure these details out. It came as a sort of lull which gradually but surely started spreading into the deeper recesses of my mind – into my memories. It started tampering with my carefully stored memories, at first, merely misplacing a timeline which, later, became dropping whole chunks of the memory until now I’m left with hazy fragments. Disjointed memories, fumbling sentences – these are the memories I’m creating for you.

If I am ailing, then that’s fine. But I can see it in your eyes; the confusion of what is happening to your interaction with me, the sadness when you realize that this is one of my better days, and the resignation that this is the best that you are going to get because there is worse just around the corner. I don’t want my memories as much as the skills to pretend like I am a normal person. You are ailing by merely being related to me, for caring and for loving me. That, my dear, is a curse upon me and a curse upon you.

I rely on my intellect, rational thinking, diction, language, communication and articulation for my keep. I study human interaction, especially in healthcare settings. Yet here I am, slowly losing my capacities. It is scary. I don’t know what will happen to me and I don’t know what will happen to us. Will you forgive me for becoming this heap of emotions? Will you move past the fear that grips my heart and chokes my life? Will you be okay when I am pass on, blissfully unaware that I leave a mourning family behind?