The Pieces I Picked Up A Story of Falling Apart and Starting Over

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There was a morning when I stood in the shower and couldn't remember if I'd washed my hair. I stood there under the hot stream, motionless, time folding in on itself. I had nowhere to be and everywhere I needed to go. That's the kind of disorientation that comes when your insides are scattered. You don't know what to pick up first because everything feels essential and impossible at the same time. Dishes piled up. Texts went unanswered. Sleep arrived in waves that crashed into panic at 3 a.m. I lost things-keys, socks, appetite, interest, pieces of myself that once made me feel like someone.