I miss me today. The old me.
The me that didn’t find being creative difficult- who could sit and scrapbook as if the ideas would never stop flowing. Who didn’t mind getting out the inks and stamps and other items I loved to create with, instead of finding it too much work.
I miss the me that had the energy to go to two different grocery stores to get the needed ingredients for dinners that I made. From scratch. Who could chop up a head of lettuce for a salad. The me that made decent meals instead of just chicken. Or just hamburger. The me who also made a salad or some veggies or rice to accompany the main part of the meal.
I miss the me that read 103 books in 11 months, just to prove that I could.
I miss the real me. The one that wasn’t an imposter in my own body.
I miss the me that got up in the morning and got ready for school or work, or the day, without calculating how long I would need to shower, brush my teeth, and do my hair, if I took breaks in between each task. Who loved make-up. Who never left the house without mascara. I didn’t need anything else to feel “put together”- just mascara, and I felt naked without it. These days I wear mascara when I know I’m seeing people I want to show that I’m “ok”. It’s become part of the façade.
Sometimes I wonder if these lost parts of me will come back. Logically, I know they will when the depression subsides. I just don’t know when that will be. Those parts of me are still in me somewhere… Buried. Sleeping. Waiting.