Regression Sucks

Was this it? Really?

That's what I thought as I crashed into the water below, and as I sank further and further from the surface, I felt a bitter chill overcome me. The cold was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, but I knew exactly what it was. Seeping in, ever so slowly. It was me accepting the fact I was going to die; it wasn't the first time. But this was the end, wasn't it?

Really? Over five decades of strife just for this. Oh, how I fuckin hate so many decisions I made. Eh, what can you do? Looking back, there are many decisions I would have made differently at the time, but there's nothing I can do now. I can, though curse my old self out for being an arsehole and coward sometimes, then again one changes a lot in fifty something years of life. 

Anyway, I am kind of curious to see what death is like; it wasn't anything I ever really thought about; I kind of just pushed it down the road. I don't want to die; in fact, I'm utterly terrified. Whether it's the fact that this might be it, in a few moments all my thoughts, actions, and memories will stop and I will cease to exist, and nothing I did will mean anything. Or, on the other hand, this might not be it. Heaven, Hell, reincarnation, and many more stories I had been told throughout my life kind of ignited this primal desire in me that I knew existed in all of us. It was to understand something unknown out of a mix of both fear and curiosity. I was still scared though, and that was okay.

For some reason, those who placed me in this situation didn't feel my wrath, for I knew deep down it was kinda my own fault. 

It was surprising that I remained this tranquil for that long. It was then I panicked; my body finally caught up with the situation and flooded my brain with panic chemicals as I desperately fought against the current, which was dragging me further down. 

My muscles strained as they tried desperately to claw at the water, to no avail. As gulps of water entered my lungs and the liquid around me pushed in ever more, I realised something...

I didn't want to die, despite how much simply existing hurt. It was kind of interesting. People never really say that unless they are going to die, do they? 

The light from the surface continued to dim as it became fainter and fainter, though whether that was because of my depth or because of the hypoxia, I was unsure. I didn't have the ability to figure it out either way, as my brain began to shut down most of its higher functions in a vain attempt to keep me alive just that little bit longer.

As the final light from the surface disappeared, the last thing I saw was a hand trying to grasp the light, and despite it coming from me, it didn't look like mine. 

It was cold here; I couldn't sense anything now. I don't know how long I was like this. But it ended when I felt warmth surrounding me for a brief moment as the light reappeared.

The next thing I knew, I felt a sudden retching sound as all the water in my lungs tried to leave. After letting it, I just lay there, exhausted, and as the bitter coldness that had enveloped my body slowly dissipated. All I could hear were faint voices as I stared up at the blue sky, taking in rapid breaths as I savoured the feeling of air in my lungs again. I then closed my eyes, unable to not do so due to exhaustion.

I later began to hear things; my ears were dominated by a siren of some kind blaring obstinately at whatever it was supposed to. Its constant rhythm was kind of comforting in a way. 

Waking up some time later in the hospital was kind of surreal, not the surviving part. That I adapted to quickly. It was the whole uh not being in my body!?

Well, it was my body, just not the one I was used to. I had initially thought this was a dream or some kind of last illusion by my dying brain, but it turns out something has gone very wrong, or very right. I haven't quite decided that yet.

Checking the now water-damaged flip phone that Vicky had given back to me when I woke up, I once again saw it was the 23rd of June 2002. Jeez, Nokia's were truly indestructible. I slammed the back of my head into my pillow, letting out a wince at the pain. Everything was still sore.

Holy Fuck. 

That's what I would have said if not for the respirator forcing oxygen to my damaged lungs. I had repeated these actions at least a dozen times, and as much as my mind told me it was impossible, the fact I had this old Nokia in my hands, the fact i lacked any of the tattoo I would later get, the fact that my lean arms had been replaced by these familiar chubby ones and the fact that I had seen all my friends when they heard I was awake all led me to the conclusion that this might... be real? I had even been on a call with my family, who were supposed to be dead. All of them were meant to be. It all felt wrong?

I lay there staring at the ceiling, occasionally bringing my hand up into my vision, then clenching and opening them repeatedly. I lay there silently crying, as the tears warped the sight of my hand. My brain simply refused to believe what was clearly reality at the moment. Both actions made complete sense, really. I mean, it wasn't like this was normal or anything, right? I was just trying to get my bearings.

Did everyone get a second chance when they died? That'd be nice, I guess. But reality had been a harsh mistress, and I was now a deep-seated cynic. This had to be some kind of cosmic event of luck or misfortune. Time would tell which, I guess.

Another part of me said, What if this was some kind of simulation? It was no secret that corporations and governments were messing with simulating human consciousness from brain data even if they hadn't quite cracked it yet, and I was wearing a neural interface shortly before I died, so it is very possible this is in fact a simulation. But, so what if it was? As far as I was concerned, I was dead and whether this was a coma, a simulation, or an actual second chance. I got an opportunity to fix my mistakes or at least appease what bit of my consciousness had made it until now.

Besides, if I was constantly worrying about whether this was all fake, I might miss the chance to redo everything better if this was actually the truth. See, Kat, I'm just as much of an optimist as I was a realist. Another reason to treat this as reality is to best mitigate any dissociation from what's happening around me. I don't want a god complex or something.

Anyhow, I'm so going to enjoy the fuck out of this.

After some looking back, I remember how I ended up here. Me and three friends from college were on a camping trip in Wales since we all now went to different universities, (except for me and Michael.) and we wanted to spend some time together.

Where was I? Oh, how I ended up in the hospital. Well, you see, my twenty-year-old self wasn't exactly the peak representation of the species. And when I slipped on the boat dock one morning when we were taking a boat out onto one of the lakes. I had banged my head on the edge, passed out, and fell into the water. If it hadn't been for Michael and Luke together pulling me out of the water, I would have died. 

There's probably some cosmic irony in me coming back now. That being how I actually died and all. 

In fact, considering what happened, I came off lightly. The doctors had pumped my lungs, and they said they would see if I could breathe on my own in a few days. That combined with the couple inch scar on the side of my head, and I was fine. It was a miracle; actually, I didn't get pneumonia or some other infection from the lake water. 

And jeez, did it take some convincing for my parents not to drive the five hours up here to check on me? I mean, I want to see them, but I need to be ready for that. 

Hell, even seeing my three friends was painful knowing that by the time I died, two of them were dead while the other I hadn't spoken to in years. 

But what now? 

Well, first, I need to not repeat the mistake of constantly thinking I'm worthless and pushing people away and blaming even things that have everything to do with me on others while feeling guilty about things that have nothing to even do with me. Also prevent everyone I care about from dying for as long as possible. Oh, and definitely rescued Kat when she's little; she doesn't have to put up with that shit longer than necessary. 

Okay, so if you've done all that, what then? Become rich? It wouldn't be that hard, would it? Invent an app or something when the iPhone comes out, rake in a few million from a few games or something, and invest it. Live off the dividends. Just invest it in something that won't just disappear in the economic crashes. One would have thought that someone would have done something about the stock market after the like tenth crash in a century, but no. 

I could also just mine like a hundred thousand bitcoins and be a trillionaire by the 2030s. 

Anything else? Be happy; maybe find someone to share it with, I guess. Though I am definitely staying clear of Maria. It was good while it lasted, and we were both damaged people looking for comfort. But we were incompatible, and we parted amicably after four good years, but it still hurts, man. Eh, if worst comes to worst, I'll just stay a bachelor. 

Oh, and as for the one not worth mentioning, she might just accidentally shoot herself in the back of the head or something. Oh, I know, get mauled to death by a pack of yorkies. I tried my hardest not to laugh at that thought since even breathing hurts at the moment, though I think that if there's a god they would get a chuckle at the irony in that fate. 

I was too tired at that point to even realise I drifted off to sleep while thinking of an increasingly creative way of killing a certain someone. Actually, now that I think about it, there are several people I have some desire to kill and would face no moral qualms in doing so. I should probably seek out psychiatric help for that, but...

About a week later, I was released from the hospital. Jesus the self-guilt hits hard. Why? Well, because at least one of my friends was here whenever the hospital allowed it. I feel really bad now, even if it's only because of the future. As soon as I could walk, I hugged each of them. 

I suppose that's another thing; no matter what, I'm going to make sure they're happy. 

It was a shame really how I ended up not seeing Vicky or Luke for a long time after this trip. Well, I saw them at the funeral anyway, but that was just a brief encounter after weeks of me ghosting them. You know what? I should have reached out. To be fair, I should have been there for Michael as well, instead of just being wilfully ignorant. 

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I've already written like another fifteen chapters but I can't be bothered to edit them, LOL