what has become of me

i don't remember much of that time. it is all vague, covered by the merciful fog provided by time, and the things that took place then appear to me now as they would have happened to someone else. yet i cannot escape or deny the fact that these events have had their share in molding me, the result of which you can see in what i am today; but still, when questioned about this specific time period, i struggle with bringing any details of it into mind.

the fact that my memory fails me can be, of course, explained at least to some extent with the blunt truth -- i was mad. this is also something i find completely detached from myself now, so much so that it fascinates me and makes me want to poke at the past like a child would poke a roadkill -- curious, slightly afraid, aware of the knowledge that behind the dead animal is a force  bigger than himself. this is because being mad, or rather, let's be honest about it, shithouse rat crazy as i was, is something i no longer remember experiencing. maybe it is because i never truly felt it, that my insanity was as normal for me as my sanity is now, and that only afterwards i was shown how my actions could be considered somewhat unorthodox. but the state of things -- that i don't remember that time all that well -- proves me that i was indeed somewhere else, that i was not what they say is normal; that the sea of my mental disorder rested so heavy upon me that it managed to create a reality and time that no longer exist.

but it must be said that the weight of the ocean on me was comforting. it might have immobilized me close to a paralyzing level, but it was always there, a friend and a lover and the meaning of life. like a thick coat that warms you on a cold winter night the mass of my madness protected me from the outside world, lulling me into a state of oblivion and, dare i say it, bliss. it was only when i started to surface that i realized how difficult the way up was and how deep i had been, and the air that now streamed into me, as sweet and fresh as it was, also hurt my lungs that had been unused for so long. and i have to admit -- when i choked up blood and the bright light of the real world burnt my eyes there were times when i missed the quietness and calmness of the underworld. 

i would not be the person i am today had i not been mad; and i would have not gone insane if i hadn't been the person i was before i did. but what remains is the question whether or not it was me in the bottom of the sea -- i don't recall it any more than i can grasp the tail of a dream that vanished before i woke. i can't tell, really; but i do like the smell of salt in the air.