Becoming Myself

Sometimes it is hard to connect with my inner self. It's as if I have an existence where I am unsure of what I like and who I am. I am an observer, just wondering what I'm doing here, unmotivated to do anything other than lay in bed, aching.

I have to force myself to get up and wander around, pick things up and put them down, take a bath, stay there longer than a moment, just feeling the water soothe the ache. Stretch my muscles back and forth, and clean in-between my toes, critically eyeing the calluses on the bottoms of my feet and contemplating how to be rid of them.

Then I have to get ready, and while I'm doing that, I'm straightening the bed, dusting my bookshelf, and reacquainting myself with things that I've chosen to keep by my bedside.

Sometimes I wonder if I should just throw it all out and start again, gather up different things; perhaps that would make me a better, different person.

So, I decided to write myself down, to reconnect my brain with my body, my inner life with my outer life.

Now I've given you all a piece, a little glimpse of me, becoming myself again.