This is reminiscent of the final scene in Harry Potter's Chamber of Secrets where the prolific writer turned Defense afgainst the Dark Arts teacher had been hit on the head, and given permanent amnesia.
(I can't recall his name, so I have to watch it a second time now - watched it for the first time last night, but I digress.)
I was recently in a psych ward, and lost my voice there as I had to understand all their rules, and obey their guidelines.
I was treated for paranoia as well as depression. I self-committed because I needed to find out who I was. I lost sight of myself, and needed to regain some direction.
Agonizingly, I quit my job, and my wife is supporting our home while I try to find that ever elusive place within myself where I can see clearly.
Can we really ever know ourselves? Aren't we constantly changing, adapting to every little decision, obstacle, effort to find our true selves?
I cannot recall the last time I ever really spoke to myself on the inside.
Maybe by writing it down, that conversation can happen.
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