theory of me

i have a theory.

i have no proof for this theory. i have no numbers or facts or figures to back it up.

and i don’t actually believe it either.

but i have this theory that my consciousness is stuck in some sort of rift between time.

i am constantly experiencing the past, present and future all at once.

i recently saw a comment online about a song from 2004 and how it was a forgotten blast from the past for the commentor. but to me, it wasn’t. i hadn’t listened to it for years but to me it held no nostalgic value because i exist in a state of nostalgia 24/7. every step i take anywhere i am is burdened with the weight of 10000 memories from every day i’ve lived.

when i’m standing at any given intersection in the city i’m at the nexus of about ten different years’ worth of memories, all hitting me at once. i cross to the north side and i pass from july 2010 into may 2016. i then turn and cross east into january 2016 and a block later i’m in november 2018. i am still living all those realities at once.

if i were to ever meet up with anyone from my past, for me it would feel like time had not passed at all. i would be able to pick up a conversation instantly as if i’d just stepped out to use the restroom for a minute. they may not even remember my name but i likely will have thought about memories containing them about a dozen times within the past month. the concept of “drifting apart” is foreign to me; any bond i’ve ever had with anyone is exactly the same strength it was as when i last saw them.

this theory would also explain my overdeveloped memory. how could i possibly forget anything when i’m still there in all those places right now as i type this?

i’m in math class, 2003. the lower left portable. quadratic equations assignment in front of me, fly buzzing around.

i’m in a backyard in newmarket, 2015. a man is loudly singing ‘werewolves of london’ off-key in the corner as i take pictures of a torch’s flame.

i could go infinitely more granular than that.

i could tell you almost everything that transpired on each of those days. i close my eyes and i am still hoping that mark robinson has a better grasp of a(x²)+b(x)=c than i do.

a second later and i am still circling some random elementary school in newmarket looking for a parking space in august in a car without air conditioning.

physically i am here, in this moment, right now. mentally i am there, 17 years ago, 5 years ago, and everywhere in between. the smells, the sounds, the sights have not faded.

and i know that i’ll wake up one day and it’ll be eight years later and i’ll still be able to tell you everything about this moment on august 29th 2020.

so, maybe the reason that i’ve been getting gradually more intense dizzy spells this year is because it’s getting to be too much for my brain to hold. a human brain is not meant to remember so many experiences, much less be constantly reliving them. it also doesn’t help that 99% of those experiences are either sad or retroactively tinged with sadness.

remember when in 2004 i was on the shore of lake ontario in kingston and i felt like the most immense sadness i’d ever felt? maybe i knew just how bad my future would be, and even though i physically hadn’t been to the upcoming decades, my mind had been there and was sending all the bad times back to me. among all these shattered mirror shards that reflect memories back to me are shards from times i haven’t yet been to.

that’s why i was so sad back then, because the sadness just kept on going and keeps on going and will keep on going. i have no hope because i subconsciously know nothing good is coming to me. what i think is anxiety is actually the knowledge of the future and that what i want to happen is not going to happen. i am already sad over things that have yet to happen. i am living through anticipatory grief.

if we’re gonna go full sci-fi fantasy here, maybe this is also the reason i get incredibly sad when i start thinking about life in time periods i was never a part of? maybe reincarnation is legit? maybe i’ve just got some sort of karmic baggage that’s been chained to me as my consciousness has jumped from body to body over the millennia. i am mellon collie and i have the infinite sadness.

or you know, maybe i’m just some guy, sitting at a computer, writing escapist nonsense to find a scapegoat concept that will absolve him of his inability to let go of the past.

but that doesn’t explain the bizarre deja vu i get when i go to new places and they look exactly like scenes out of dreams i’ve had.

it doesn’t explain that time i was lying in my inflatable pool in 2001 and felt the entirety of the universe all at once within one moment.

and it doesn’t explain that supremely weird feeling i get at least once a week that i have never, ever been able to adequately explain. the one that comes out of nowhere and then goes away within a minute, seemingly triggered by nothing. the one that feels like some strange hybrid of deja vu, nostalgia, intense nausea, and a fever dream. it’s like a memory of a nightmare, of an intangible force. the only remotely describable element i can put in writing is the “feeling” of “Friday evening” crossed with “Sunday evening”.

anyway, i’m off to walk around.

but i’ll still be here in my mind.

in an hour, two hours, five hours from now i’ll still be remembering this moment sitting here in my chair writing these exact words.

and one day it will be august 29th, 2028. but it’ll also still be august 29th, 2020.