I want my time back.
The mornings that didn’t begin in dread,
the nights that closed softly,
instead of swallowing me whole.
Time that wasn’t spent
negotiating with pain,
or bargaining with exhaustion.

I want my health back.
Not just the absence of illness,
but the presence of ease.
The ability to move, to breathe,
to exist in my body
without resentment,
without fear.

I want my body back.
The one I could trust,
the one I didn’t have to explain,
defend, or apologize for.
I miss the days
when I didn’t wake up
attempting to measure
my own limits
before I even stood up.

I want my smile back.
Not the tired, polite one
I give the world,
but the one that used to
rise naturally,
unprovoked,
honest.

But more than anything,
I want my mind back.

My clarity.
My rhythm.
My ability to stay
with a thought long enough
to follow it somewhere new.
I want my focus,
my memory,
my peace.
I miss feeling like myself
inside my own head.

Lately,
I feel caught in a loop of
grief, numbness, anger,
hope, shadowed by sadness,
then grief again.
Each day a copy
of a day I didn’t want
to begin with.

Only time will tell
when this fog will lift,
and if I’ll return to myself
or become someone else entirely.

But this can’t continue.
It’s maddening to feel this trapped.
To watch life moving forward
like I’ve been left behind
inside a version of me
I feel I was never meant to become.