P

And I always thought I would be 25 and fine...And I'm not, my head is a mess from all these conversations with myself. My mind has gone astray; looking every which way for some protection.

Racing from thought to thought and on nothing specific. Never anything specific. I would not think it a problem if it hadn't been the case for months. I haven't held a legitimate thought longer than a sentence in an eternity and it is killing me. And - get this - I can't even write 2's or 3's or S's or other curve-first characters without a hand stutter. Maddening, and there is nothing in my power to reverse it. So many questions that I needed answered, like, why I am more myself when all alone? Why are there so few things that truly make me glad? And...and, why am I losing my head?

It was coming all along, a slow genetic train, fueled by the choices I had made, halting to a stop in an empty, stagnant station. For - I will lose my mind someday after I had sinned a thousand times, because I knew nothing but selfishness, and my mind will no longer be an asset as descent from melody to cacophony takes hold. Though it had been dormant for so long, it will happen quicker than can be imagined. I will vegetate. And it will not have been my choice.

Not to worry though - I'll get used to the lack of original thought, melodic dreams, incessant questions, and spontaneous inspiration. I will become idle, soft, and a champion regurgitator of others' ideas. I will do a fantastic job of hiding in self-preservation and will ultimately convince myself that the new state is the norm and the old the anomaly. Adaptability, the nefarious human condition.