Who is “Myself”?

From my journal for Monday, January 23

Lying in bed before I got up, I didn’t feel like myself.  When I got up, I asked myself “Who knows I don’t feel like myself?”  — and who is it who asks?

Written in writing group on Monday, February 27

Well, what to write about.  The thing I typed up.  I don’t feel like myself.  Who is it who asks that question?  Today I’ve been feeling very odd.  A little wobbly but not so much physically as emotionally.  What kinds of emotions?  Well now that’s a difficult question. not so much sad or happy as amused, annoyed, then confused, then caught by the color of a cloud — wanting to write about it but not having subtle enough words so I just kept looking: soft gentle colors of clouds and sky, fading into each other, fading away with almost a gentle, sad, taste ?  like black raspberry frozen yogurt —    then knowing I have to go out and do an errand, pick up a prescription at CVS, there are other things I need to get —— o but I can’t be bothered to figure that out now, I would get overwhelmed.  Got there and I had forgotten to wear a mask, there’s a mask in the car but it’s too far to walk back.

Something that’s not clear in this writing is that there is a scared child part who needs to be protected.  I choose to protect myself from being overwhelmed, but don’t really know why.

I look out into the night and see windows across the courtyard, one with bright lights, several with much dimmer lights, perhaps behind curtains and trees with bare twigs in front so they look like odd glittery shapes not something recognizable as a window.

I’m looking out the window of the room we’re writing in.  I did that on another writing night about a month before.

That’s how I feel, lots of pieces, broken up into glitter, unrecognizable as any particular thing.

I hear a hissing in my ear.  I’ve had it since I got on imipramine 25 years ago about.  I also stopped remembering my dreams.  They feel like big losses, silence and dreams.

What does that mean, I don’t feel like myself?  Do I feel like myself right now, broken into glittery bits?  No, it’s myself that recognizes the glittery bits as what? parts of me, all seen from a particular angle, and all held in a large shape which is myself. that feels right.  Like when I’m feeling very scared and then I stand behind the scared young one and put my hands on her shoulders and tell her it’s OK to be scared, she is still loved.

The “large shape” that holds my parts is “myself.”  Somehow that seems right to me, Though I’m not sure I can explain it.

The looseness of this writing reflects a deep relaxation in how I’m going about my life.  My therapist comments that my parts have “a lot more breathing room.”  I think I have majorly let go of the need to get everything “right.”

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