The Subtle Art of Losing Yourself

You can hardly pinpoint when it happened.

You might think it was when your tear gland suddenly became a foe, bursting out even when not needed.

You might think it was that time you caught yourself staring up at the ceiling for ten full minutes.

You might think it was that moment where your focus kept slipping and wandering into the world of “why am I thinking?”

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It has no notice date. It sneaks in and instead of leaving, it understands the pattern and stays.

Growing.

Grooming.

Destroying.

You start losing interest in things you love and you give excuses for that.

“Maybe, I just need a little time for rest.”

But soon, the time grows and you have no interest going back. Even if you do, you find it so difficult.

You start going by your day as if you are enduring the time instead of actually living. You wake up every morning and you go through your day but now you feel like a spectator.

And before you know it, you are losing yourself.

Losing yourself does not come with a notice period. It doesn’t come and say, “Yuck! You are about to lose you. Brace up!” It comes with no warning and slowly sips your spark. Bit by bit.

Like a skilled sculptor, carving what you made of life into another shape but not just the one you wanted. So, slowly, you start overthinking every step, every interaction and decisions and you start erasing bits of yourself.

And as the clock ticks, you slowly lose a part of yourself.

Suddenly, one moment, you try to pay attention to yourself and start to notice the rough hidden sculpted work that has become your life and the realization tears you down and you are left wondering about a lot of things.

Then, you try to fix. To mend. To replace.

But what’s more crazy is that the realization does not suddenly replace that part. The realization does not change anything; it’s only an awakening.

You try to go back to the things you love but it now seems like you speak different languages.

You try to see things from a different perspective but everything just feels hard.

Trying to save yourself from yourself can be the most difficult task because what do you mean I am my own enemy?

Who am I supposed to shout at?

How can I leave the blame at my feet?

Who am I supposed to give a knock on the head to reset my brain?

Who? Me? Me?

And just like losing yourself, gaining yourself or returning to yourself is not a day’s job. It takes time.

Bit by bit.