The Me-ness of Being Me

It seems strange to say, but sometimes I forget what it’s actually like to be me.

I mean, to be me without the medication, without the support, without the blind faith that stuff is going to work out. Occasionally I get a glimpse of that person, the unadulterated and unfiltered me-ness of me. Now they are just glimpses, like someone pulls back the curtains at the exact moment that you look up into their window and for a moment you are watching each other. I get the feeling of being outside the person I used to be.

But even that is a fallacy, because the person I used to be is still me. It’s just that I now control me, rather than the other way around. Not that things don’t ever go wrong in that confusing equation.

And that’s why I started running again, and that’s why I think I need to keep running, because there is clarity and power is making yourself suffer like that. I forgot that making myself feel bad could actually feel great, because usually when I’m making myself feel bad it makes me feel like I want to evaporate into nothingness.

But I don’t. I won’t. Ever. Because I like being corporeal.

371 days.

Things have been bad for the last few months. It was bad before that too, but not as much.

I’ve been ill. Things started happening that I didn’t understand. I went from being able to comfortably run for 10, 15, 20km to barely being able to run 5, then 3. Then I stopped. It was easier while I tried to work out what was wrong. I haven’t run for 371 days.

 

For my birthday this year I was given an activity tracker. I am going to start again. I miss running. I miss feeling tired. I miss it.