The person I used to be

I used to run five miles a day, everyday and enjoy it. It would justify my consumption of a million times more calories than someone my size should eat. I could listen to the same song on repeat and it would get me through. I would pick something that was aligned with my mood and relate to the lyrics, transport myself to another place, make my own music video in my head.

I used to read for pleasure. Non-fiction is what I prefer. I want to know other peoples’ accounts. Real people. Not an imaginary tale of someone who survived the Holocaust or the Great Depression. There are plenty of compelling, true stories to paint the picture in my mind, I don’t need the made-up version.

I used to write in my blog. There were so many tales to be told of my wanderlust, sports adventures and explorations of cuisines new and old. Tonight, I will fall asleep watching the Yankees game after enjoying a fruit cup for dinner, since I still haven’t made it to the store to restock the fridge.

I used to be the silly, giggly girl who laughed so loud people would stare and I wouldn’t care. On Sunday, I fell asleep on my friend’s couch at 5:00pm. And then again on the train ride home. And on my futon by 8:00pm.

I used to cook every meal, mixing a little bit of this and a little bit of that. My risotto was “as good as in the restaurant”. Who cares if my best friend said it? It counts! Now on the rare occasion that I do cook, it’s pasta with broccoli or a veggie burger. More often than not, I settle for a scoop of peanut butter and another of Nutella.

More often than not, I struggle with trying to be the person I used to be. I’ve watched months of my life slip away, but maybe seeing what I want versus what I have spelled out in front of me will be the motivation I need to be me again.

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~ by wanderlust1011 on July 22, 2015.

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