Masks.

Sometimes, I think I can bury my head in the sand without even realising it.

I spent this afternoon reading through old school reports, eating spicy ramen and listening to what I can only describe as glorified elevator music in the hope of obtaining a level of mindfulness as the last month has felt chaotic.

What I hadn’t factored in was that I would burst into tears with no warning. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried, and even after an hour I couldn’t tell you what brought it on. The spicy noodles? The acoustics that sound like I’ve been waiting to get through to BT for 3 hours, or remembering being that difficult teenager, reading multiple teacher’s takes on trying to put my personality on paper? Probably not. Whilst I know I’m not all that different now to what I was then, there are elements of me that will never change, and some that I’ll be forever grateful are no longer with me.

I’ve been carrying a weight around with me lately, one that can often feel like a comfortable old friend visiting, but I must remember that it’s not.

Maybe my head’s been under that sand a lot longer than I thought this time.