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30.10.2022
It's been around a month since the medication and therapy started. The time during which my nervous system conveniently slipped out of my body or hibernated. So, the series of strange feelings that started some months ago - where I couldn't always recognise myself in the mirror or feel soap on my body - came to a full circle. I no longer feel like myself. Once you get to it, you realise that there's no greater pain than this. We do love ourselves more than any other thing or being, we might not always know so. So when you forget what you would feel like, say, do, act, think in a given situation, you turn into a baby left in an unknown world with no recognition of its workings. This loss paired with an affinity of absence is a dangerous combination.
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I know what the most common question that takes over peoples' minds when they see you as an outsider is - what does it feel like?
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Let me jump in and answer it once and for all.
I don’t know. The memory of what better or happy feels like, seems intangible. It slips away from your fingers like cookie dough crumbles you were once famous for. And eventually you forget about it. The desperate attempts at trying to remember happy is usually with movies, music, books, art of any sort. And they just make it worse. Probably because they don’t feel like they used to and that acts as another shove in the pit that’s centred in your chest. You zone out when the plot twist comes and are deep in your own story. Songs just feel like a crowded room with overflowing lights that make you dizzy and slam your hands on your ears to mute it. Books help sometimes, for some pages, until the words stop seeping in or until you forget what they mean. Plus, when the dreams come, if there is sleep on the cards, the characters are in worse situations.
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So doing things because they will put a smile on your face doesn’t make sense. The only two ways you smile now are imitating the curves of others’ mouths and when you forget about it all, for some seconds.
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The things you should do are what you fear the most and can’t do. They make your mind numb and mouth slurry. They make you feel like you’ll wet your bed, at 26. That’s how scary writing a single copy, slicing onions, answering questions, talking to people, letting them in is.
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All this while you're still trying to hold on to your original reactions. You're still wondering what happened? Why you? Why this? What broke you? How could anything this small break you? How worse is it going to get?
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You never find the answers to any of these.