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.