Sunday, 9 April 2017
The Lost Girl
I feel a little lost within myself right now.
Like I've been asleep for a year and I've finally woken up.
I always feel like this after a depressive period, and I have quite a few of them under my belt now. As it stands right now, there are two parts of me, struck directly down the middle by a column of heavy, unyielding darkness. There is pre-depression me, a twenty year old girl who still felt sixteen. And there is post-depression me, a twenty-two year old woman who doesn't love any of the things she remembers she's supposed to love. A girl who feels broken and unbroken, tired and energised, world-weary of places she's never been. Books, nail varnish shades, albums, shoes: they no longer belong to me. They belong to her, the girl who used to be before the darkness swallowed her whole.
So what do I do? When that girl's belongings surround me? When her hair is growing from my scalp? When her favourite stories are stacked neatly on my bookcase?
I do what I always do: tear down what I hate and rebuild.
This is not my destruction. It is my re-birth.