My Irrational Fear of Losing My Mind

My aunt and I used to play dominoes on the kitchen table On summer nights when I was too young To be crushed by the weight of my surroundings I remember that being the only full summer I spent in Mexico I think I could remember how to play these days if I got thrown into a game But anyway, her place, my grandpa's place had this big steel gate She'd say, "Be in by dark or don't come in at all" I just recently understood that not coming in was never an option All the stores would close, everyone was indoors Not because of Tía But because narcos didn't want anyone out after dark Dominoes We'd play, she taught me how And I remember her saying that While my still, towering grandpa watched pieces move around table He'd settled down for bed She had to help him into bed She had to help him with everything I never thought anything of it That's grandpa, I guessed My mother's father remembered some of his kids' names sometimes He'd sing on occasion, or fall silent for a stretch After a life long-lived and hard-worked Raising thirteen kids, growing apple groves Mother Nature came to collect for his success I later learned I was a lot like him Artistic flair, tendency to isolate Deep desire for independence He refused to be employee You could almost say he worked himself to death After many seasons preparing soil, planting Harvesting, watching over his land His mind rotted before he could enjoy the fruits of his labor Now he was past the point of no return, on a slow descent My father's mother had just left as I arrived back home I'd like to think we passed each other going opposite directions on the highway She was peacemaker between four boys, still mourning a fifth She'd come by every so often and made everyone gather at our place She'd say, "I'm comfortable here If you wanna see me, make your way, I ain't going to you" My grandma had a heavy heart full of secrets She grew all her boys into men, season by season Never stopped looking after them Took every chance to enjoy her harvest But due to rough terrain they were cursed with Some of them required more care and attention than she had left To this day I still feel little kid safe when I smell cigarettes She was loud, drank with the men And wasn't afraid to tell you like it is If her boys wanted to shower her with gifts, she'd let them If they had to hide a skeleton, she'd help them She looked happy and healthy, my father said No one would have anticipated her fast descent Not long after getting home, her mind started to dissolve Like ash at the end of a fast-burning cigarette She was gone in days I think I've always been afraid to meet the same fate But if my aunt taught me anything It's that you can't control the hand you draw You can only control the way you play A couple years ago, I quit smoking again Started working out, eating better, for one 'Cause I was getting a gut But I think it's the safest way I know to stay sane To protect my brain against the wear and tear of stress over age I learned how to meditate I think I do it to try and habituate myself Into paying attention to my mind Whatever part be self Whatever part be mind Maybe it's a desperate attempt to hedge my bets And maybe if my medial temporal fails me, my basal ganglia will save me When I notice anxiety, rage I think of them as plague pooling, eating at my body and mind I remind myself to not feed them, and they'll leave in time I try my hardest to get seven to nine every night I've started journaling every day Just in case I ever need to IV in some of my experiences To make up for lost memories It's an ongoing debate Whether I should journal everything All my random thoughts, or just facts, dates, and names I find that I write in this tone As if the future me reading it knows everything I know But if I really lost it, maybe my journal Should read more like a biography Would I want to remember how people and things Made me feel emotional footnotes possibly? If normal memories are only fifty percent accurate If they're altered every time they're accessed Then the only reliable way to not chance it is to always be packing a notebook To write things down as they happen I'm working on wrangling my attention 'Cause to get the best definition on these written images I need to be Like a hundred and ten percent present Then again, that's still pretty subjective Is the me found through my eyes? Or should I list the help of a third person perspective? I know I can't win life The best thing I can do is play well And hope the game extends Maybe I'll even get to be me through my descent