I stumbled upon this quote while browsing Pinterest:
I want to feel like me again. Because five years is a long time to feel like someone else.
— JD Bailey
I was reminded of an entry in my journal from the year things started getting out of hand:
To the girl I used to be:
Where did you? Why did you run and hide?
There were many similar entries about how I missed who I used to be.
Today, however, I do not remember the girl I used to be. I do not remember who I was before illness took over. But I miss it. Does that make sense – missing something you cannot recall?
I have built up a pretty nice picture of what life could have been like – no perpetual blanket of sadness; no anxiety that taps my shoulder every few minute; no thinking about self-harm when I look at sharps; no suicidal thoughts to fight.
I do not expect to be able to live exactly like I did. I will still have the battle scars, and I’m okay with that. In fact, I’m proud of the scars, and, while I wouldn’t ask for it if I had the choice, I appreciate what illness has taught me.
But, what if, when I finally “feel like me again”, it’s not what I expected? Or, what if it could be, but I never get well enough to feel that way?