Thinking vs. Feeling
I have been thinking about the old me. The me right before the flashbacks, the self-diagnosis, and the disclosure. The me that used to take chances and seemed to have friends and boyfriends and would go out and explore the city and have fun and had dreams. She was as reckless as she was young and fresh, taking the time to look pretty and stay in with the trends.
Inside, she was a mess. She was adventurous because she literally was not afraid of death, almost quietly wishing for it. She would put unknown substances into her body, as well as men she was afraid would dislike her otherwise. But in reality, she was looking for genuine love. One time, she actually wanted to be with a boy before she slept with him, and he decided her silky brown hair and hopeful eyes weren't good enough the next morning. She tried to wash him off with three others within four months. All that created was a bigger snowball of regrets to add to the book of poems she kept, late at night.
Another time, she slept with an older man she had just met, and stayed in a relationship with him until she finally decided that her own well-being and happiness were worth more than being labeled "easy." She, then, went back to school in order to become a better person. She was promoted in her job. Things were really looking up for her.
Then, she met a boy who embedded the devil in skin. He was attracted to the light that bled through her thighs like a moth on a summer evening. She was lured by his darkness, whose scent hid a hint of familiarity.
Never had she ridden such nefarious coaster. She was dragged down, lowest low after highest high. She became psychotic. She became addicted.
The ride ended in a wreck, as was expected by her new cynical nature. She was like a tower struck by lighting, completely burnt to the ground. But as anything is destroyed, new things are created. She was no longer willing to fall for the rush. She wanted something good that would last. She decided to go into a long term relationship, for the first time consciously, with a boy that had been a very good friend to her.
Then, the flashbacks began;
invading her thoughts in the middle of class, through dreams, like an awakening sleeping giant. She couldn't understand.
She tried. She did. She got it. She lost it. She was happy. She was sad. She lost her drive. She was confident. She cried. She laughed.
Today, she is alone. Confused. Starting from zero, wondering if she has made the right choices by starting this "treatment" which seems to weaken her relationships, beliefs, projects, and dreams. It's been a year and five months. Will this ever end? Will she ever see and feel with clarity? Will the good feels ever be constant and not be replaced by sadness and more confusion within the same week?
She can only hope...