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content/blog/2018-07-07-chasing-the-edge.markdown
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content/blog/2018-07-07-chasing-the-edge.markdown
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layout: post
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title: "Chasing the Edge"
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date: 2018-07-07
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---
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The Edge is that which lights. That which sets the blood pumping. That which sparks the soul.
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The Edge is the edge between life and death.
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Chasing the Edge leads to the Rush.
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The Rush is the fire lit from the Edge. The thump of heart pumping at the Edge. The blaze of soul sparked at the Edge.
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The Rush is adrenaline, nothing more — nothing less.
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It is also the only way I know how to *Live*.
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I don’t know how to feel other than the Rush. All I have is the Edge.
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The Edge makes me feel alive. Always have…always will…
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Of course, the thing about the Edge is it has to be dangerous. Else it wouldn’t *be *the Edge!
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Chasing the Rush is just like chasing the wind. Exciting, but ultimately futile. Each time it hits just a little less. Boosts just a little less. So I push closer to the Edge. One step, one step at a time. Chasing leaves on the breeze, head wired upwards. Couldn’t see the cliff coming up if I wanted to.
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Addiction.
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Addiction and…craving.
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I cannot feel satisfaction. Even at the Edge, there is no satisfaction. Always demand for MORE, MORE, *MORE*. Ever greater hits, ever greater heights.
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Sooner or later, it’ll kill me. Maybe then it’ll be satisfied. The Edge will have drawn the blood it demands. Maybe then *I’ll* be satisfied.
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<hr/>
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Originally published [on Medium](https://medium.com/frenetic-scribblings/chasing-the-edge-b473b3efd3e2)
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content/blog/2018-07-08-clawmarks-on-my-memories.markdown
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content/blog/2018-07-08-clawmarks-on-my-memories.markdown
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layout: post
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title: "Clawmarks on my memories"
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date: 2018-07-08
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---
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{{< image url="/img/1*QiRpt7tqra3moEbFQwtsnA.jpeg" caption="*Photo by [Andy Tootell](https://unsplash.com/photos/oRhhb0f2Kic?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/scratch?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)*" >}}
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One of the reasons I’m so *damn* good at living for the present is that I can’t remember the past.
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The instant a moment is gone it blurs, out of focus. Then it fades into the blackness. I can’t remember the mundane — what I had for lunch the other day, what movies I watched last week. Nor can I remember the special — the first kiss, the last heartbreak. It’s all gone.
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Faded out.
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I love it, and I *hate* it. I hate it, and I *love* it.
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It’s true that I can never be satisfied [without adrenaline]({{< ref "/blog/2018-07-07-chasing-the-edge" >}} "Chasing The Edge"). But that isn’t the whole picture. Satisfaction is underpinned by *memory*. I cannot be satisfied in what I have done when I cannot remember it.
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I am cursed to wander — to always chase more. Adrenaline, and everything else. I cannot learn from a past that is no longer mine. I cannot remember fondly a laugh shared. I cannot relive the pain of a past heartbreak.
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I cannot remember.
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No matter how hard I try to hold, the memories always slip away. No matter how fiercely I claw. I have to live for the here and now, because otherwise [I ain’t got shit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TP5cjnVGJ38).
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I cannot remember.
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I love it.
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*I hate it.*
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@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@ categories:
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- on life
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aliases:
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- /ig
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description: Aphantasia is no gift. Not for me.
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description: Aphantasia is no gift. Not for me.
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images:
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- /img/tony-rojas-lk5MYKmGyFE-unsplash.jpg
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---
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@@ -16,7 +16,7 @@ images:
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{{< image url="/img/tony-rojas-lk5MYKmGyFE-unsplash.jpg" caption="*Photo by [Tony Rojas](https://unsplash.com/@tonyrojasstudio?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/s/photos/blindfold?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)*" class="full-width" >}}
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</div>
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Quite a while<sup>1</sup> I [wrote]({{< ref "/blog/2016-12-16-minds-eye-blind" >}} "About Us") about my experience of aphantasia. At the time I said<sup>2</sup>:
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Quite a while<sup>1</sup> I [wrote]({{< ref "/blog/2016-12-16-minds-eye-blind" >}} "Mind's Eye ") about my experience of aphantasia. At the time I said<sup>2</sup>:
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> It’s forced me to live in the present. But, like Zeman, I don’t feel that that’s entirely a bad thing, something to suffer from. A difference, not a handicap.
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@@ -24,9 +24,9 @@ These days, that's not true at ALL. Not only that, I'm angry. I don't remember m
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So I'm really quite angry at what I've lost. So many moments that ought to have been memories for a lifetime, gone like sand in the wind. Moments that should be unforgettable, all gone. I've lost first kisses, first loves. I've lost birthdays, Christmases, holidays. I've lost heartbreaks and breakups. Maybe you think it makes it easier? Seventeen hells no. It makes the fragments that do stick hurt even more, shrapnel in an open wound.
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People talk a lot about letting go of the past. I don't really have a choice in the letting go, and as a result I fight every step of the way, clinging to scraps. It hurts a lot more this way.
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People talk a lot about letting go of the past. I don't really have a choice in the letting go, and as a result I fight every step of the way, clinging to scraps. It hurts a lot more this way.
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It feels, almost, like I've lost a sense, though of course I can't lose something I've never had. And I'm not sure that's fair to say, as apart from a brief brush with blindness from a massive blood pressure crash, I haven't lost any real world senses. But that's the closest words I can find to describe it. That's another thing that feeds my anger. I'm struggling, but there aren't even the words for why. We haven't even invented them yet. Every time I type the word aphantasia a red squiggle comes up, taunting me. 'This isn't a word' it's saying. In other words — 'It isn't a real thing.' Sure, that's just the computer. But even still. Nobody knows about it, and we can't talk about it because we haven't *invented the words* yet. That twists the knife. Talking about the inside of our heads is so damn hard. I can't imagine what it's like for mindsighted people just as mindsighted people can't imagine an aphantasiac's life. Hopefully this will get better with time. I'm going to fight (in whatever small way I can) for it to, at least.
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It feels, almost, like I've lost a sense, though of course I can't lose something I've never had. And I'm not sure that's fair to say, as apart from a brief brush with blindness from a massive blood pressure crash, I haven't lost any real world senses. But that's the closest words I can find to describe it. That's another thing that feeds my anger. I'm struggling, but there aren't even the words for why. We haven't even invented them yet. Every time I type the word aphantasia a red squiggle comes up, taunting me. 'This isn't a word' it's saying. In other words — 'It isn't a real thing.' Sure, that's just the computer. But even still. Nobody knows about it, and we can't talk about it because we haven't *invented the words* yet. That twists the knife. Talking about the inside of our heads is so damn hard. I can't imagine what it's like for mindsighted people just as mindsighted people can't imagine an aphantasiac's life. Hopefully this will get better with time. I'm going to fight (in whatever small way I can) for it to, at least.
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At this point I feel obligated to mention - things could be worse. There are plenty of worse conditions, and I empathise with everyone who suffers, but this one is mine. Sometimes, it feels like mine alone.
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