Back then, I still wanted to write something. Back then, life was different, and I had another view of myself and of others. Back then, my house of cards was still standing, giving the impression that it was safe and sound, that its foundation was solid, and that nothing would shake it. But that was back then.
Right now, I have lost my will and my power to concentrate, to focus on what really matters, because what really matters is still undefined. Right now, things don't seem to fit as they once did; the vision blurs and I am not so sure what it is that I should be doing but am not. Right now, my self has become another one. Someone that doesn't remind me of anybody in particular.
Struggling, defining, living and knowing. These are constant words, constant feelings and actions that live with me. Who am I? What do I like? What do I don't like? Am I good in what I thought I was good? Am I feeling what I think I'm feeling?
This is more than the impostor syndrome. But it is less than the Stockholm syndrome. It's somewhere in between, or maybe nowhere. When I woke up and decided to keep going, I knew it was a temporary decision. It still is. I still have to find what I missed, or what I have never found. What to do? Too hard of a question to answer right now. Here's hoping that time will help me with this hard, but long-wanted task.