ii. the lights are out
Day two was much like day one - hearing was recovering, CT scan, hands on chins, shaking heads. Back to bed.
On it’s own being there makes you ill-at-ease, they do a fine job of pulling you out of those moments, being offered a cup of tea at 8am every morning are something to depend upon.
Those mundanities divert your attention from dwelling on the idea that you may well have irreparably fucked up your life. These kinds of thoughts aren’t recommended for a speedy recovery, but I still do find time for them when all the lights are out.
I tried to envision what waited in future, I think I saw potential in a way - I still do; in fact, I see myself as an optimist.
In these moments I saw what happened as a dramatic method of stirring myself from apathy, it haunted me - lurks in everyone - cynicism is trendy. I despise it - but I understand it, there doesn’t really seem to be a more rational response to such a comprehensively chaotic world, and it’s unreasonable to expect everyone to replicate my method of gaining new perspective. I'm sure I wouldn't recommend it.
Life is a series of different states, you gotta always be prepared to adapt to the new circumstances that come along with them.
There’s a superset these states inhabit that only changes twice. You’re not alive, you are, then you aren’t. At this point I was.
I wasn’t frightened, because I was alive. I didn’t have the room to be afraid at this point, I had approached that final state change but I didn’t experience it. There was no value in wondering what mightn’t have been, why exhaust myself wondering about all the things I’d never get to experience? In a grim way opportunity had presented itself, merely by letting me carry on.
Besides, I already knew exactly what it would be like.
It’s probably different for everyone, but for me it was like every day prior to April of 1993 - up until then I wasn’t alive for the first time.