And he knows exactly why he's not dead yet. It's the same for everything else that had ever happened to him. The failure, the reject. Everyone else would go quicker than he would.

That's not a very good blessing.

"...seizure's part of it, yeah." He almost wants to laugh. Almost wants to wish the only thing he had to deal with was the seizures. "I'm..."

Fine? Nah. There's no 'fine' when you're going to die. There's nothing you can say to make it better. Nobody would believe you. Just a waste of breath and energy.

"...alone, here. Haven't met anyone from where I am. I'm gonna get up, okay? I'll bounce back from this."

Always does, no matter what. He's had worse spills, honestly. So he shuffles a bit in the garden, trying to get his legs under him and his arms sturdy enough to push himself upwards. And he does manage to get to his feet!

For a moment. Then he's just stumbling backwards with just a tree to grab hold of.