They passed me by, with disinterested stares, paying no heed to the drifting figure, who bears no recognition of his surroundings. His mind, delibilitated, memories and the mind receding until all that is left is the husk, a shambling husk. Slowly, slowly, the delibilitation may prove fatal, as the husk shambles towards his death, ironically a welcomed prospect.

How can one survive such an onslaught? Is it what I want? I am losing my language, constantly under barrage by the mesolect and the basilect. It is horrendous, and I wonder how long would it be before I too, succumb to the hideous linguistic environment.