Today I feel unlike myself.
This used to occur more often in the past which is why I feel rattled as I wake up only to find myself trapped in a bodyless sensation. I roll out of bed, slide into my pink fluffy slippers cuddle up in my cozy dressing gown and head to the living room where I turn up the heating in the hopes of the warmth bringing back shreds of my usual self. Yet alas: even with my toes now perfectly toasty, my whole body enclosed by a climate so snug, I have trouble knowing what to do with myself. I feel….displaced. Like I lost something. Like I lost the core of my very being.
I try to go about my day as usual; washing the dishes, studying briefly, distracting myself with a book, a movie… nothing helps. I feel trapped. But how can I when I feel so clearly lost? Do I feel captured in not knowing who I am anymore?
“Leave philosophy to Aristotle” is what my grandfather once said to me. He is a sharp man as they say, a man who chooses to observe the world through a black and white lense. Sometimes I ask myself if it was indeed his own doing; looking at the world as a sharp contrast, nothing more, nothing less. Our upbringing surely defines the way we perceive our surroundings as well. Yet I’ve always thought it a rather idiotic thing, to not look beyond what we are told.
I was one of those children which held an internes curiosity for everything. The enigma that fascinated me the most: humanity. Countless of my childhood memories are impressions left by strangers. I remember once standing in a full elevator, holding the hands of my parents, when a woman walked in and placed herself in one of the front corners. We were in a shop which housed departments on numerous floors.
As we were moving upwards, the woman started to suddenly furiously scratch the back of her upper arm. She did this for the rest of the ride until we arrived at her floor. Only once chattering people started pouring out of the elevator did I notice she was bleeding on the very same arm she so viciously attacked. Elevator doors closing once more, I glimpsed the woman now noticing the blood trickling down her arm and onto the carpet. She didn’t even look surprised. The doors shut and we continued up, though my thoughts stayed down there, on that very floor, for the rest of the shopping trip.
Sometimes I still wonder about it today. Yet it took until today for me to fully understand the woman, for she had felt what I am experiencing at this very moment: discomfort in one’s own skin. So much so, that she wanted to shed hers while I write this, in the hopes of finding the glue that holds it all together.
*image credit goes to thi.dee on Instagram. Thank you for permitting me to use them!