Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Grasping for Bits of Myself.

I've been feeling nostalgic lately. The majority of things I've written lately have been about the bittersweet work of reconciling an old me and a new me. I found myself referring to a younger me as her. Separate, like a little sister.

Lately, I've been pestered with a dream to be her again. I've been thinking about high school--just let me go back and do it again! It was suddenly painful to not be near Kristin and Hannah and Emma, complaining about our homework, writing haikus, and making mix cds. 

Last night, I was talking to Emily, and my heart softened, remembering a time when we would talk every evening about our heartbreak. It made our voices quieter and kinder, made us find solace in songs, and made our friendship vital to us. Strangely, I wanted to go back to that time, when the air always hummed with meaning.

I've been thinking about my college years of studying Greek, doing my homework at 5 am, coming to love my classmates as comrades, admiring my professors for such different reasons.

I've been thinking about my 21-year-old self, kind and interested, able to look others in the eye and talk to them and listen to them. At parties, floating from one person to the next, spurred on by my quest to love as many people as deeply as possible.

All this matters, and it matters because it means something has changed. For a year, I've had near constant depression. I thought it would go away, but it didn't. Just a few weeks ago, I realized that I had an untreated illness that I was letting steer my life. I started taking medication to help.

And, in response, this beautiful nostalgia. Not only have I regained interest in writing, politics, and schoolwork, but also, as the dismal fog has lifted, in myself. I think my nostalgia is my way of grasping for bits of myself, reacquainting myself with who I was, reminding myself of who I am.

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