Essay 20
Essay 20
Essay 20
Essay 20
Feeling like myself
Feeling like myself
Feeling like myself
Feeling like myself
28 Feb 2024
28 Feb 2024
28 Feb 2024
28 Feb 2024
3 min
3 min
3 min
3 min
✢ SCROLL TO READ
✢ SCROLL TO READ
✢ SCROLL TO READ
✢ SCROLL TO READ
On Sunday, I was hunched over my toilet heaving. After every bout of throwing up what felt like the last remains of my stomach, I would throw up some more. Few hours later, exhausted, I fell on my bed. As I yawned, relief washed over me. A yawn meant sleep. And sleep meant getting better.
When I fall sick, I try to remember that it is all physical. I google the virus, the hormone, the chemical. Learn its name. Separate it from myself. I try to remember what I am on my best days. Remembering little things like how it feels to focus, to taste my favourite foods, to not be in pain can tide me through. A reminder that this is not me. I am not feeling like myself.
But as I grow older, some of these illnesses are starting to stick. I have a pain in my left shoulder that started a few years back. Earlier it felt like something temporary, a guest. But now this pain sits on my shoulder often. Making me a little moody, a little annoyed, a little bitchy. All the things I haven’t let go are trapped in this shoulder. When it leaves for a few days, I celebrate. Convinced that I am back to being all new. But it comes back. And doesn’t feel that strange.
On Sunday, I was hunched over my toilet heaving. After every bout of throwing up what felt like the last remains of my stomach, I would throw up some more. Few hours later, exhausted, I fell on my bed. As I yawned, relief washed over me. A yawn meant sleep. And sleep meant getting better.
When I fall sick, I try to remember that it is all physical. I google the virus, the hormone, the chemical. Learn its name. Separate it from myself. I try to remember what I am on my best days. Remembering little things like how it feels to focus, to taste my favourite foods, to not be in pain can tide me through. A reminder that this is not me. I am not feeling like myself.
But as I grow older, some of these illnesses are starting to stick. I have a pain in my left shoulder that started a few years back. Earlier it felt like something temporary, a guest. But now this pain sits on my shoulder often. Making me a little moody, a little annoyed, a little bitchy. All the things I haven’t let go are trapped in this shoulder. When it leaves for a few days, I celebrate. Convinced that I am back to being all new. But it comes back. And doesn’t feel that strange.
On Sunday, I was hunched over my toilet heaving. After every bout of throwing up what felt like the last remains of my stomach, I would throw up some more. Few hours later, exhausted, I fell on my bed. As I yawned, relief washed over me. A yawn meant sleep. And sleep meant getting better.
When I fall sick, I try to remember that it is all physical. I google the virus, the hormone, the chemical. Learn its name. Separate it from myself. I try to remember what I am on my best days. Remembering little things like how it feels to focus, to taste my favourite foods, to not be in pain can tide me through. A reminder that this is not me. I am not feeling like myself.
But as I grow older, some of these illnesses are starting to stick. I have a pain in my left shoulder that started a few years back. Earlier it felt like something temporary, a guest. But now this pain sits on my shoulder often. Making me a little moody, a little annoyed, a little bitchy. All the things I haven’t let go are trapped in this shoulder. When it leaves for a few days, I celebrate. Convinced that I am back to being all new. But it comes back. And doesn’t feel that strange.
When I was younger, I had clear adjectives for myself. Adjectives for who I thought I was, who I insisted I was going to be. I knew all the ways I was good, better, best. Now? I am not so sure. The more I become comfortable in my own skin, the less ego I have for whoever it is I have become. On some level, we are all stereotypes. So much like everyone who came before us. And so much like everyone that surrounds us. Sometimes, my childhood feels like a story I made up. It is so alien, distant. More and more, I have to be someone else. Grow up. There is no home to go back to.
Life actually extends beyond 30, did you know? With every new age and body to grow into, I am learning to improvise. I have no game plan. I am a first-generation everything. There is no pride to guard, no horns to toot, nobody to be. I am doing what I can. If someone showed me all the ways that I am inadequate, I would have no defence. I would make notes and add my own list. Aware that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody knows what they are doing. Especially not me.
I am mostly genes, environment, upbringing, body. There is no ‘myself’ to hold on to. Every time I need to make a new choice, I can make it. Grasp a figment of this new person. Imagine what it is like - to be disciplined, stoic, kind, nurturing, all wit, all charm. Look for references and memories. Override my reactions, circumvent my reflexes. Become myself.
When I was younger, I had clear adjectives for myself. Adjectives for who I thought I was, who I insisted I was going to be. I knew all the ways I was good, better, best. Now? I am not so sure. The more I become comfortable in my own skin, the less ego I have for whoever it is I have become. On some level, we are all stereotypes. So much like everyone who came before us. And so much like everyone that surrounds us. Sometimes, my childhood feels like a story I made up. It is so alien, distant. More and more, I have to be someone else. Grow up. There is no home to go back to.
Life actually extends beyond 30, did you know? With every new age and body to grow into, I am learning to improvise. I have no game plan. I am a first-generation everything. There is no pride to guard, no horns to toot, nobody to be. I am doing what I can. If someone showed me all the ways that I am inadequate, I would have no defence. I would make notes and add my own list. Aware that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody knows what they are doing. Especially not me.
I am mostly genes, environment, upbringing, body. There is no ‘myself’ to hold on to. Every time I need to make a new choice, I can make it. Grasp a figment of this new person. Imagine what it is like - to be disciplined, stoic, kind, nurturing, all wit, all charm. Look for references and memories. Override my reactions, circumvent my reflexes. Become myself.
When I was younger, I had clear adjectives for myself. Adjectives for who I thought I was, who I insisted I was going to be. I knew all the ways I was good, better, best. Now? I am not so sure. The more I become comfortable in my own skin, the less ego I have for whoever it is I have become. On some level, we are all stereotypes. So much like everyone who came before us. And so much like everyone that surrounds us. Sometimes, my childhood feels like a story I made up. It is so alien, distant. More and more, I have to be someone else. Grow up. There is no home to go back to.
Life actually extends beyond 30, did you know? With every new age and body to grow into, I am learning to improvise. I have no game plan. I am a first-generation everything. There is no pride to guard, no horns to toot, nobody to be. I am doing what I can. If someone showed me all the ways that I am inadequate, I would have no defence. I would make notes and add my own list. Aware that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody knows what they are doing. Especially not me.
I am mostly genes, environment, upbringing, body. There is no ‘myself’ to hold on to. Every time I need to make a new choice, I can make it. Grasp a figment of this new person. Imagine what it is like - to be disciplined, stoic, kind, nurturing, all wit, all charm. Look for references and memories. Override my reactions, circumvent my reflexes. Become myself.
When I was younger, I had clear adjectives for myself. Adjectives for who I thought I was, who I insisted I was going to be. I knew all the ways I was good, better, best. Now? I am not so sure. The more I become comfortable in my own skin, the less ego I have for whoever it is I have become. On some level, we are all stereotypes. So much like everyone who came before us. And so much like everyone that surrounds us. Sometimes, my childhood feels like a story I made up. It is so alien, distant. More and more, I have to be someone else. Grow up. There is no home to go back to.
Life actually extends beyond 30, did you know? With every new age and body to grow into, I am learning to improvise. I have no game plan. I am a first-generation everything. There is no pride to guard, no horns to toot, nobody to be. I am doing what I can. If someone showed me all the ways that I am inadequate, I would have no defence. I would make notes and add my own list. Aware that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody knows what they are doing. Especially not me.
I am mostly genes, environment, upbringing, body. There is no ‘myself’ to hold on to. Every time I need to make a new choice, I can make it. Grasp a figment of this new person. Imagine what it is like - to be disciplined, stoic, kind, nurturing, all wit, all charm. Look for references and memories. Override my reactions, circumvent my reflexes. Become myself.
Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth
Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth
Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth
Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth