On the way home one evening, when I was in a particularly dark place, I had the clarity and understanding of my headspace to write the following words below. I cherish them still because nothing I have been able to write since has so concisely and aptly captured the extent to which I feel removed from my body and bereft of the memories that remind us of our humanity.
the memories that orientated my present
have slowly disintegrated
all that remains are faint, shapeless pieces
of a person I cannot recognise
and the doubt that I ever knew myself at all
When they say depression hurts, for me, this is why. There is so much pain that comes with feeling detached to who you are — an imposter in your own life. A face you barely recognise not because it looks any different, but because the context that anchored the memories of that face ebb ever further away ignorant of and despite your best effort to hold them close.
At some point you just stop trying. Or you get help.
