My Left Hand

Less use for lack of ambidextrousness,

Less scars for lack of use,

Less stories for lack of scars,

Less experience for lack of stories,

Less ability for lack of experience,

Less ambidextrousness for lack of ability,

And yet I’m staring at it like it’s the most meaningful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.


This is my attempt to figure that out.


How often do we take for granted the things that we couldn’t live without?

Oxygen, Water, Salt, Bacteria, Spiders, Bees, Immune systems, Ecosystems, Social systems, Political systems, Solar systems, Gravity


Ah, Gravity.

The concept I use to describe my depression.

How quaint it seems to me now in awe of my left hand.


“What is this a joke?” I hear you thinking.

“What does that even mean?” I don’t even know myself.

But I do know that currently as I type this, I am in awe of my left hand.

I stare into its surface contemplating its vast simplistic complexity.

“You’re crazy.” Yep, totally, but aren’t we all?


The thumb, first off since it’s so separate from the others, has the best fingerprint out of the bunch. It’s the third strongest, least crackable, most flexible, and the master of the left analog stick.

There’s a freckle on the left of the bottom section of the middle finger when I look at it, one in between the middle and index towards the back, and one seemingly in the middle of the index’s back hand part.

I have hair growing in a 45 degree angle from the wrist to the pinky side ending about 1cm before the pinky knuckle.

I have recently trimmed its fingernails, so there is a closed tear where one of the hangnails used to be on the left of the ring finger.

The folds of my palm do not cross. They come in from both sides. The one coming from the left flows under the one coming from the right.

I can see blue-green and red-pink blood vessels in the palm and back sides. There are two blue-green vessels in on the right of my ring finger’s palm side.

The ring finger is still ringless as it might always be, and sometimes I’m ok with that.


I guess, the importance of this hand was strengthened by my sudden compulsion tonight to cut it off.


Don’t worry, dear reader, I didn’t go through with the heinous thought, but the mere existence of the thought perplexed me.


I still have no idea.


Perhaps a crude joke of a playful demon on the night shift incepting an idea I would obviously know wasn’t mine.

Perhaps an improper firing of a chemical signal connecting my motor cortex to my amygdala after receiving a corrupted message from my chemically flooded prefrontal cortex responding to the input received from my occipital lobe after I looked at my left hand.

Perhaps the fact that I’m better at using a knife with my right hand so it might be easier to go through with it if I was to succumb to the absurdity of the act.

Perhaps the concept of not letting my left know what my right was doing was meshing with the concept of cutting off a hand if it causes you to sin so as to avoid sinning once more.


But the question still remains,




None may ever know,

But today marks another day in which I still have my left hand.

Another day.

Another day of which there are more to come.


More days for more contemplations,

More contemplations for more learning,

More learning for more sharing,

More sharing for more wonder,

More wonder for more hope,

More hope for more days.


More days to write things that don’t really have a point to an audience which may or may not exist, post things without a care as if it weren’t online and this were only because I liked it or I was bored, and shut off my computer before I sleep hoping that I’ll make it through tomorrow just like I did today.


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