somewhat of a journal

I remember thinking: this feels like the quiet before the storm. It seems so bizarre to me now that there ever was a before. I have been thinking a lot about gratitude lately. Taking things for granted, being in such a rush that all the good things only stand out to us once they are over. I don’t regret anything that is not it. But it feels bittersweet to think about the past that was hidden from me for so long. It feels surreal and I cannot help but feel like my memories are still not mine, like they have been altered. That is probably just my brain trying to do what it has always done: protect me from the memories, but still, it feels weird. Faulty. Uncontrollable.

I think I have discovered that in an uncommon way I am somewhat of a control freak. Because since at least some of my memories have come back to me time has felt different. And that difference I cannot put into words and therefore neither explain nor control it. It scares me. I have lost my perspective and my new one Is not as objective anymore. Before everything felt like I was watching it through a silver screen. Like it was not me experiencing everything but this character I could control. And now time is moving much faster and I am in the perspective of the character. And it does not exactly feel like I am being controlled but definitely not like I am controlling and that scares me. Mostly because I don’t know what to do about that. Im in this swirl of time and suffering that will only end in two years but they seem grotesquely hard to grasp so everything has been feeling very inevitably doomed.

Strangely I feel even more lost than when I didn’t have my memories but hopefully that will change as everything else soon.