Sound. Smell. Sight. Touch. The fusion of all senses at a single point in time and space assaults the brain. You suppress this with all your might that it dissociates and shatters into pieces. These shards pierce you at unexpected times, latches on to current sights and sounds; diminishing, enhancing, and sometimes distorting the joys and losses of the present. This makes all memories and realities suspect.
Did it ever really happen?
Is this happening now?
Is anything happening at all?
Am I really here or out of my body seeing me then or now?
Is this a dream?
What if my mind is playing tricks on me?
The only thing that is real is physical pain and scars from accidents, falls, burns. So you seek these instead of creating new memories, feeling anything. You don't have words for feelings anyway. And sometimes you run towards the things that hurt you. And the things that hurt you most are the ones that have no words.
No words. Translate the feeling into images. Colors. The shades of red, orange, blue, yellow. You run towards this as you run away from the same. Some kind of cruel enslavement. But to have some semblance of victory over what torments us, we need a stronger, better version of the same weapon that attacks you. Bringing a knife to a gunfight? That only works in the movies. Not in this dimension.
Yet you wonder ... what use of having this Lazarus soul, to walk out of the grave bound and gagged and have no one to free you from memories of your dying?
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