I See

I’ve spent my winter puttering around in my own mind and feeling strangely exposed. Like my skin’s been peeled back, leaving my innards exposed to the elements. For the first time in years, I’ve sat and marinated in my own juices, processing all the grief and hard times I’ve survived. It’s been unpleasant. I’ve felt… lonely. I’m used to feeling lonely; I like being lonely in a way. It’s unsettling to suddenly find that I’m afraid to be alone with my own thoughts. I’ve always focused so hard on improving the things I hate about myself. Tried to become more thoughtful, conscientious, smart, put together. Now I catch myself missing an old version of me. A me that was open and fun and uncaring of what tomorrow brings. Then again, maybe that person never really existed. Memories can be funny like that sometimes.

I’ve tried putting my thoughts into countless songs, but they all ring hollow. Like this new awareness isn’t ready to crawl out onto the page. As I picked at the bones of a song I couldn’t fix, I started sorting through old lyrics, seeking inspiration. In my files, I came across a song I’d written and published back in 2018. It was strangely painful to listen to. I thought about how much — and how little — has changed in that time. When I look back at old writing, it feels like a glimpse into another person’s private life. Like I’m peering at silhouettes as the light casts them on one of those old timey screens people used to change behind. There’s something strangely intimate and voyeuristic about it; I have to remind myself that I’m only looking back at an old me. I’d like to think all this time looking inward is leading me on a new journey. I’m taking the good bits of me and sloughing off the chaff. Or maybe… I’m realizing things I was confident in must shake apart around me so a new reality can emerge. Only time will tell if it’s for the better, I suppose.

An old friend told me awhile back that I really haven’t changed since we met in high school. On the surface, sure: I’m more confident; more thoughtful; I dress better. Well, I couldn’t dress much worse. But fundamentally, at the core, I was unchanged. At first, I was hurt by her assessment. I’ve worked hard to leave that scared, lonely, depressed kid behind. But the more I thought about it, the more grateful I was for her words. As the world rapidly changes around me, some fundamental part of me remains. A piece that she’s valued enough to stay friends with for over ten years. I find that comforting, somehow. Maybe through it all, that vulnerable kid has survived intact. Maybe there’s hope for her yet.

elishiva phillips