The Exquisite Beauty of Falling Apart

This me that exists now is unrecognizable.

I have fallen apart and reformed so many times I don’t know the difference. I feel dismantled yet exquisitely assembled. This me looks deceptively like depression from the outside. It is uncharacteristically unmotivated, sleeps more than is necessary, finds words painful, thinking not easy. It’s not the same as giving up, yet it could be mistaken for that. Sometimes it is so deceptive I start to wonder myself. The me waiting outside knows better.

I have binged on eating away the illusions I have clung to and wrapped myself up in the tight silk of transformation.

What I once knew of myself has become mush. It is rumored you get wings at the end of this, but I have my doubts. Not quite one thing or another I have become an incoherent mess. Yet I somehow still have structure and form. I make my bed every morning. I open and close windows. I make bread, kneading dough same as before. I care deeply, maybe too deeply. There are...

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