Its friday, 20 past midnight and I have decided to start writing as a means of refinding myself. I always journalled as a way of therapy, keeping endless notebooks. I have become afraid of the words, of someone finding them or reading, so in a way afraid of revealing myself. Yet that inner world is more tenacious yet vulnerable and bright than ever before. Now the dream afraid of waking, is my dream of myself as a writer, maybe I have postponed that dream so I never have to discover I can't do it, or am better than I think I am.



So that's the opening. I am wanting to reshape myself. Its almost 5 years now since my outer shape has changed into something I don't recognise. I am rounder, fuller, softer, yet stiffer and not as busy physically, my walk was always like me impulsive, rushed, clippity clop, now its more soft footed, not as quick, no more clumsy ankle twisting falls from rushing headlong into life. Now I am careful and more dull footed. But my mind is still keen, eager to learn, to remake myself, explore, I still want adventure and lust for life... but its hazier as though that lean hunger has been replaced by satiety, the need to constantly drink that next coffee later, that caffeine charge and insulin spike, and then the tiredness, and the next chocolate fix or meal preparing that keeps me hooked like a drug to the tv, the gas cooker, the shops for the cheap thrill of buying something small, something new.