I miss the old me. The person I was for most of my life. The person who loved to travel, engage anyone in conversation, laugh, joke, go places, and dream.
That woman had goals. She took on each day with curiosity and plans. She traveled the world and stayed up nights to log the journeys with brilliant words.
I miss the person I was before autoimmune disease. I long for her. I want the people in my life to know her. I want to be her instead of only in my memory.
Now many days I feel old, closer to an end than a beginning. I move through my days tending to what must be done rather than dreaming of or working toward what could be.
I’ve lost me...or I have been stolen.
