Dear Reader,

I’m afraid.

Of starting over.


Although i’m grateful for where i am in life right now…although i’m immensely thankful for who i am – that i’m not stuck in that repetitive cycle of unhappiness and isolation and loneliness – there’s a part of me that mourns that person, because i often feel that despite my enthusiasm these days, i’ve lost a really important part of me.

I feel as though i’ve lost the sensitive, caring part of me.

Sometimes, when i look in the mirror, i stare back at myself, searching my eyes for any sign of recognition. I search for a part of me that  in that reflection, yet it stays solid, unreachable, like there is a wall blocking my view.

Sometimes i feel like the part i’m searching for is the childlike, naive part of me i feel i’ve lost and without that, i can’t even recognise myself.

If they say that the eyes are the window to the soul, then why do i feel like i’m staring at an emotionless, inanimate figurine.

Maybe i’m searching too hard.

Maybe i’m looking for someone who isn’t – and never was – there.

Do you ever feel like that?

There are people who constantly tell me that i’ve changed, that they don’t like who i am or who i am becoming and at times i agree with them.

Usually however, despite the parts of me that appear to have grown up or been lost, i can’t say their words affect me all that much.

i like who i am – most of the time. I feel like i’m able to truly be me…to truly stand up for myself, by myself. I feel like i now know my own limits, my comforts and i respect myself far more than i used to.

I feel much more comfortable in my own skin. happier, even.

Yet they resent me for this.

They resent me for being…me.

Surely, that isn’t right?

Perhaps thats why i look for myself and mourn the loss of the old me.

Because i was liked for the broken mess i once was far more than the whole piece i feel like now.

There is a small part of me – a bigger part than what i like to admit, but small nonetheless – that fears being forgotten, like an old dusty book on the shelf that hasn’t been opened in years. There is a part of me that craves to be up to date and accepted. there is a part of me that fears rejection.

I don’t want to be thrown away as though i have expired.

on the contrary, there is a part of me that just doesn’t give two shits about whether or not you like me. i don’t need to feel like i am an elite member of the -in- crowd – because i never was and it’s never really bothered me.

I am who i am and you cannot change me.

this is the part i like about mysge i plastered over my wounds, trying to uncover that one part of me i can’t find.

perhaps that is the part of me that has expired.

for i am that person no more.


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