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talking with a high school friend and I had the terrifying realization that not only is past me entirely foreign to me, I truly don't remember anything of what they did.
there is nothing more terrifyingly surreal than a friend telling you the story of you, and it being brand new
there is nothing more terrifyingly surreal than a friend telling you the story of you, and it being brand new
it was literally RPG-level "don't you remember your backstory" infill.
we even briefly dated (!) and major details of that were missing. often at best I can remember hazy details of memories, but this was complete, far-spread deletion. I can't explain it.
we even briefly dated (!) and major details of that were missing. often at best I can remember hazy details of memories, but this was complete, far-spread deletion. I can't explain it.
I know this is often associated with major changes in self and such--but I'm genuinely convinced my brain has never recorded well. I don't know if it's to cope, or an inherent flaw. It's sprung up from time to time, but never has it been this dramatic and frankly startling.
looking back (and I say this kindly) I genuinely don't like the old me. they were ostensibly an okay person, but out of touch, misdirected, and frankly confused.
I genuinely feel like I have to dig things back up and reinterpret for them. Like they saw, but never understood.
I genuinely feel like I have to dig things back up and reinterpret for them. Like they saw, but never understood.
because of this, in some sense, I think it's important I've forgotten. it's an unusual, unsettling, but maybe a necessary tabula rasa for me as I understand myself better.
I believe there are things inherent to me, and I've been lucky enough to rewrite some things which aren't.
I believe there are things inherent to me, and I've been lucky enough to rewrite some things which aren't.
self-understanding seems to come years down the line though, and always very gradually. I wonder if I'll ever have the handle on myself I naively thought I did.
part of me hopes I never do, because I think I've grown more understanding myself less.
part of me hopes I never do, because I think I've grown more understanding myself less.
I write this all, of course, a little alarmed--but I think hopeful. maybe the Katie I'm looking for will rise out of this somehow, and hopefully pieces of her were there that I just didn't see.
as remarkably cheesy as it is, I've always wanted some semblance of a narrative for myself. some overarching story to pin things to and hold on to on cold nights. it was what I think I was missing back then.
and I guess maybe sifting through all this is what can be my story now
and I guess maybe sifting through all this is what can be my story now
