Three-Legged Dog

9/8/2022 9:40AM

Like an injured animal I hobble about the prairie knowing that the lions will have me first

Maybe it’s dissociation; maybe it’s derealization; maybe it’s reality; maybe it’s something that I simply cannot comprehend. All I know with certainty, however, is that I feel like an alien - a polar bear in the Sahara and a stone-age hunter-gatherer in a modern shopping mall. While I could assert that I always felt this way to an extent - in fact I would make this admission readily - it has gotten worse in recent times, and by a significant magnitude. I can feel it in the sweat that clings to my shirt and the bats that ram their wings into my ribs. And I am not at all at any loss as to why: I know why and I know *too well*. I could never forget it. Once upon a time, there was one singular way in which I could confidently state that I was not much different from anyone else in the world: this was my healthy, functional, gracile, and able body. In fact, I was well-aware that the body which I then possessed was in fact enviable in many regards. With this body I ran, jumped, climbed, swam through rivers, and tackled mountains, and within these activities I found release, relief, and respite. No more. Ever since another’s idiocy shattered the integrity of my knee, I have been consciously aware of my limp; of my tendency to place my own weight unevenly; of my two-colored feet; of my inability to live like I once was - in a manner that is not far off from madness. Indeed, the thoughts are *maddening.* When I walk, I no longer feel as a graceful creature that moves along with the wind; I feel as if I am a three-legged dog… Only a three-legged dog does not have the brain capacity sufficient to realize the full burden of his predicament. I feel trapped inside of myself with my inability to ventilate my energies in the form of kinetic dynamism; the storm of frenetic bats is borne of this. There is no cool breeze to vanquish the sweat that builds upon my skin. There is no easy answer to my crippling quagmire. Every time I cross the street, I feel unsafe because I know I cannot run. Every time I try to walk at the speed that used to be my default, I can feel my painful limp becoming evermore conspicuous. As I walk through these thronging crowds in the menagerie, I know viscerally that many of these people - these happy, free, simple, and able-bodied people - take notice of me and my struggle… My struggle which is on display for all to behold. And as I attempt to tackle these roads, these paths, these steps, these stairs, I feel more pathetic and small than ever before. Everyone feels sympathy for the three-legged dog. Everyone looks upon him with pity. This is how the denizens of the world look upon me now; Pride and Dignity are no more. Many years ago, I prided myself on my ability to ascend a steep hill. A couple of years ago, I prided myself on my ability to run long distances without tiring. A couple months ago, I prided myself on my ability to dance in Lucifer’s garden; The Natural State. Today, a seemingly insurmountable mountain of grief stands in place of all of this “pride.” And in each and every moment that passes I am swimming through its blackened remains. My once best memories hurt me so. My spirits lapse into doom. I remember running down the street listening to REO Speedwagon and feeling such joy even though REO Speedwagon is mediocre. I remember running down the hall when dinner was ready because it smelled so good. I remember running to meet you each time you returned. I remember sprinting along the breakers of the Pacific where the ice plants sunbathe in the rainbow dunes. I remember sprinting through the neighborhood to blow off steam. I remember sprinting past the boys who were mean to me in Physical Education. I remember climbing boulders and fins, majestic and awe-inspiring, in Arches National Park. I remember climbing into the everlasting skeletons of felled trees. I remember climbing tree-spangled ridges in hopes of a nice vista, or perhaps a waterfall. I remember sitting criss-cross applesauce. I remember everything I took for granted before. I remember. 

This world cannot be real