Some days, it can seem like it's a day where you are merely going through the motions, you wake up, go to work, talk to other people, but nothing is really there for you. You are present but not totally present. I have seen that blank memory in people's eyes before and I have felt it in my own chest. That strange time where something seems missing, yet you can't quite identify it, like you are living on the surface of your life, yet there is something deeper, unknown waiting below.
Sometimes it starts early, you learn that keeping the peace is a priority, you anticipate what might prompt an undesired outcome and you smile to discomfort. Before you know it, you forget which parts of you are real and which ones you fabricated to simplify life. You've mastered the art of the expected so much that you might not even notice that you have slowly distanced yourself from your own tragedy.
Typically it does not happen all at once, it happens like the slow drizzle of a mildly dripping faucet.
Then one day, perhaps when you least expect it, you recognize that you don't know yourself anymore. Your fatigue is different from sleepiness. You say yes when you want to say no. You're with others but feel totally alone. That's when it really hits home how long you have had your voice turned off.
However, that voice, it doesn't go away. Instead it waits. It appears in the smallest of instances, in the quiet moment when something real is happening or when you feel compelled to do something just because it feels good to do it. Reclaiming yourself doesn't look like one big jump. It's gradual. It's a process of allowing yourself to feel the things you have allowed yourself to dismiss. It's about noticing what makes you feel alive in the smallest way. And when you do, even for a moment, you'll realize there is more of you living inside of you than you ever thought possible.
