I think in some ways I'm relearning who I am. I was an expert at knowing exactly who I was when I was really sick. When my body and mind were at their absolute bottom. I knew what made me happy. I knew what I wanted. I actually had things about me that made me unique and interesting. I may have been horribly sick behind closed doors, but outside them I was worth a second glance. I never ever thought a few years could drastically affect everything following them. Here I thought, at the time, that getting sick was the worst. Little did I know that everything after would be hell.
In some ways I let myself backslide into the laziness of disease. Degenerate longer than what was necessary. I got comfortable in it. Who the hell am I when I'm not sick? Who the hell am I at 22 in relation to 16? Kinda sick, residual sick? I am a has been before I was ever a been. I’m so lucky they tell me. I smile and nod. I am lucky. So fucking lucky. They believe me. That’s all that matters.
It's leaving me anxious. Nervous. I find myself second guessing and I never ever would’ve done it before. I find myself sans confidence, and it was never like that. Arriving at this 180 I gave up all my self power. You know it's bad when I start to bore myself. Maybe it’s Munchhausen or Stockholm or maybe just plain fucking crazy.
That's the pro and con here. I'm always so observant about everything, including myself. Why didn't I stop myself? Slam the breaks? It's hard sometimes to filter what's coming through the lenses. To break up everyone from myself. From the external from the internal. I let the combo of falling into the routine of post-illness and my lack of focus steer me to this current point. Too bad I don’t know how to turn around or keep going forward.