A stroke of luck
My son Glenn called at my disabled bungalow.
Me being
bedbound he sat,y my side like
brothers as always. He told me of his brothers
and mother's difficulty with their cost of living
crisis I said I would try to help but I had my own.
Problem and had little ready cash as I was
scammed last year of twenty thousand pounds.
My bank
balance is only starting to bounce back,
I was never really into money.
So, I never let it get to me but my family
Could have done with it. I explained to him.
That the massive stroke I took in 2005 that
Left me crippled in a wheelchair paralyzed.
Down my right side and I lost all long-term
Memory. I can’t remember my three sons
Being born my own childhood and 18 years
Of marriage, due to the brain injury, I suffer.
From aphantasia that’s like a darkness behind
Your eye unable to conjure up a picture, no
Mind’s eye it’s as if I live a 24 hour Déjà vu.
As if you can’t put my finger on life, as if
I’m on
repetitive repeat we talked about
A tv series that id saw nine years ago like
This was the first time even my audible
The library is full of books I’ve read three or
Four and I will read them again tomorrow.
I’ve done that after my year in the hospital.
Learning to brush my own teeth and wipe
my own ass, being bed bound living under
Care four times a day, I can hardly fucking move.
I
said to Glenn that the stroke might just have
saved my life that I can’t remember.
There’s a blackness behind my eyes that
the able-bodied world doesn’t understand even
the psyche and mental
health hasn’t got a clue.
Sentimental nonsense hurt's I don’t, even my
family they
haven’t a fucking clue what I am
talking about.
Aphantasia and long-term memory loss is a form
of
dementia I forget everything I would be better
off dead. I’ve attempted suicide
twice and woke
in tears in hospital even my care company don’t
understand my family.
Even I don’t
understand cause it’s gone?
My childhood, I don’t think my mind is strong
enough to
handle my shit childhood. I can’t
remember the detail but let’s just say it started
on a
cobbled street with an outside loo do you need any
more detail, north Belfast
I was dragged up
through a hedge backward the son of a bastard’s
son, my
father and I never spoke as we loved to
hate each other. It’s strange even
uncanny that I
lost my memory.
For ten years before the stroke, I wrote
Almost every detail of my life in seven secure
Steel boxes in the back room. I think I’ve written
these
umpteen times before. I would be better
off dead there’s a bit of black humor
for you
could you handle this?
