So I shat myself again for the fourth time this week. I couldn’t help it. I don’t have the coordination or strength necessary to get myself to the toilet. Not that I could sit on it even if I did, I would likley fall in and drown! This is a world made for giants and I am now so small.
Still it is less embarrassing than it was before. My mind was failing me and my once strong body was becoming frail and weak. I knew it, and so did they. The ‘helpers’ helped all right, but not with the same kind of love and affection that I get now. This lady really does seem to care.
The helpers had a façade about them. They were kind enough, but disconnected with my care. I was just one of their many charges. Not like this lady. It feels like I am her entire world, and given my current predicament, she certainly is mine.
Eating is another problem. Just like before, I have no teeth, so I am offered similar foods. Gruel, mush and other liquefied parodies. What I wouldn’t give for a steak and the ability to eat it.
Still this lady offers me one kind of food that no one would have given me prior. It satisfies my soul. Sweet fulfilling liquid love. She holds me close and feeds me from herself. I take it all. Far better than that cold spoon, in that cold room, watching others like myself forgetting how to swallow.
Like before, every day is the same. Sleep, eat, sleep, poop, get changed, sleep and eat some more. Only now I can feel my strength returning to my body and my mind sharping more with each passing day.
Soon I will be ambulant again, for the first time in years I will be able to move. Granted, crawling isn’t much, but it is at least a start.
I only wish that I could remember more of my past existence. The more I learn here, the more of there disappears. By the end, I was a shell of my former self, so I guess that there wasn’t much to hold onto any way. Maybe that is the point. Still, I fear that all I will be left with will be instinct, and a vague feeling of déjà vu.
I wish I could write this all down. To tell myself to not be afraid, that it all comes around again anyway. But all I can do is cry.
She is holding me in her arms now. Once again soothing me, telling me that she understands, and that it will all be okay. The past is slipping, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Now with such love embracing me.
Authors Note: The concept of rebirth is something people cling to, but rarely concider the practical realities of such an endavour!
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Check out my first fiction novel Upgrade - A Sci-fi/Dystopic Anthology
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