It’s odd and disconcerting and sometimes scary to not recognise yourself anymore. Depression and anxiety have changed me, robbed me of the person I was and now I’m a different being. I haven’t got to know myself yet.
I wasn’t a perfect person by any stretch of the imagination. I could be silly and immature, I could be judgmental at times, I could take things to seriously (or not seriously enough); I was shyer than I wanted to be and definitely uglier. I had a raging jealous streak that I always openly admitted was my biggest flaw.
But I had some good points too: I was loyal and adventurous, fun and hard-working, willing to help, caring and kind. And I miss everything that made up “me”, even the bad stuff that I tried to rectify and minimise but at least recognised as part of me and accepted as a journey of self-improvement and learning. These days I don’t know who I am, can’t predict how I’ll react and have no idea where I’m going.
Living the life of a stranger is exhausting.