Faded memories and bipolar ramblings part I

**Trigger warning** NSFW and shit like that.

 

Time does funny things to memories. They slowly begin to fade and details, the tail end of the brains are very own Doppler effect. If one is to recount a memory with those who share the experience, the individual minds conspire to change the facts, details, and key elements. Like a poorly written story, the mind changes the antagonist, protagonist, and lovable cast of supporting characters.

But not everything is lost. Like your roommates gas that is so bad, it could peel off the lamination of the tent as everyone runs out. A stream of tears run down his face as he tries to catch his breath from laughing so hard. What was funny at the time was the beginnings of the sufferings of the autoimmune disorder attacking his digestive tract has a reaction to our heavy gluten diet in the poisoning from the burn pit less than 300 m away. On that gassy night expired aviation chemicals were burned and sent skyward into hazy breeze are What was funny at the time was the beginnings of sufferings of the autoimmune disorder attacking his digestive tract has a reaction to our heavy gluten diet in the poisoning from the burn pit less than 300 m away. On that gassy night expired aviation chemicals were burned and sent skyward into the hazy breeze.

We had no idea what was being done to us, we trusted our leadership that they knew what they were doing. They were as clueless as we were, but sinned because they acted like they had the answers.

I am now the future and no longer connected to the young fool I was.

As far as I know, he died back in Iraq.

Or maybe he died paralyzed in the fear of moving off the couch in Alaska because he knew that if he got off it, there was running through his mind, turning on the Expedition in the garage and painlessly and selfishly ending it all.

When he died, whenever that was, he was replaced with a false mask. A mask that I wear to this day. I have searched for the string to remove it, but it has become my face, and no matter how much I claw and scream, it won’t come off.

And with this, my wrists are giving up, far fewer words than when I wrote this down years ago. I learned I was ambidextrous because I wanted to write more.