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This was actually the Question of the Day for 5-26-18, but once I started thinking about the question, I realized that – in order not to be flippant – I needed to seriously think about my answer. Who do I see?
Who do you see when you look in the mirror?
I see myself, but how do I know it is really me? We don’t see ourselves as other people see us, so what do other people see when they look at me?
I know other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter, but they do. Not so much to my sense of self, but to how their vision reflects my own. Theirs will be different, of course, but I am always fascinated to see myself from another perspective. What if other people see me totally different? I don’t plan to change to suit others, but I want to change any negative perceptions. What if I am coming across as a total idiot and I don’t even realize it?
Maybe because I carry so many different characters inside, I am never sure if how I see myself is actually the truth. Who’s truth? Mine? Theirs? Some unknown watcher?
I know I can simply ask other people, but I have found the answers are usually guarded and not helpful. Which I understand, but it still doesn’t help build the multi-dimensional construct of Me.
During the last few years, I have continued to wrestle with my image problem. In 2016, a medicine I had been taking for years was tripled instead of doubled. I stopped taking the medicine after a week because I knew something was wrong, but what I didn’t realize was how this mix-up would shape and control my life from then on. For one thing, the experience has changed my brain permanently, as much as I try to pretend it hasn’t. I can’t do the things I used to do. I used to be ultra-ULTRA-organized, but now I can barely organize myself.
Every time I thought I was over the effects, back to normal, I would realize just how wrong I was.
For the last two years, I have had a fleece blanket on my bed to lay on and a fleece blanket to cover me. I couldn’t deal with anything more than two blankets. On Saturday, I got the impulse to make the bed, sheets and all. A real-made bed. As I was doing so, helped by ever-faithful Evie, I realized this would be the first time in two years that I would have sheets on the bed.
This made me realized how changed I still am, even as this seems a step forward. I am trying slowly to get my life back together, to remember who I was before the medicine mix-up. Maybe I am not so normal after all. Maybe I will never be the same normal as before.
Maybe I was never normal.
Which leads me back to the question: Who do I see when I look in the mirror?
Who do you see?