I was moving things around in the storage unit last night. Box after box, I was reminded of who I was - who I am. Things I put in storage "just for a while" until I got settled down. Well.... 5 years later, in the short-term place I moved into ... the reminders of my identity are still in boxes.
One box was like slicing into the raw. It was my box of journals. I found three from 2003, 2004 and 2005. Opening them, I was thrust into a very hard edged heather. Reading my own words, handwriting that no longer matches my own (I change it on a regular basis) I was shocked. Shocked and suprised by what I wrote. Who was this person I was reading? Who was this person I had become?
Back in 2003, I was so different. Cut. Edge. Ruthless. Completely and totally ruthless with my life. It was as if, I walked out the dojo (and I did metaphorically) and into the world. And in doing so, I was changed. And I changed (as in forged myself).
I need to study this past self. I still feel the echos and reverberations of her. And yet, I am still her. I remember speaking to her as I am today. And how she laughed, but also enjoyed the thrill and freedom. I don't remember her words to me. I think she had turned her back on me and walked out into the world, to see what she could become, knowing she's be here at some point.
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