I've spent a lot of time reading since my college days, and sometimes books feel like someone to have a conversation with, since I don't have many friends. I've learned many things from books, and they've also shown me that there are many different kinds of lives in this world.
A few years ago, I took a leave of absence due to mental illness. It took almost two years to recover and return to a normal life. During that period, I found it difficult to read books. Whenever I tried to pick up a book out of boredom, I somehow couldn't grasp what was written.
At that time, even entering a bookstore was a challenge for me. Faced with numerous books on the shelves, I felt overwhelmed by the abundance of information. Each book seemed to call out to me, saying, "Hey, pick me." After browsing around the store, I would feel utterly exhausted.
Reading books had always been a natural activity for me, so the realization that I couldn't read came as a shock. Looking back on it now, I understand that reading requires a great deal of mental energy. "My brain is more tired than I realize, so it's time to rest," I would tell myself as I sought out other sources of enjoyment.
Since I had distanced myself from books, it was at a hair salon where I encountered printed words after a while.
While waiting, a young assistant placed some magazines in front of me. Among them, there was a fashion magazine for women working in an office, and another featuring a young actor on the cover. The content was different from what I often read, so I found myself wondering how I appeared to other people. As I flipped through the magazine, I mainly ended up looking at photos, but I realized I had less hesitation about reading.
One day, an old friend texted me to go out, and we took a drive to visit a book cafe. I picked up some books that I wanted to read but didn't feel compelled to buy, and started reading in the cafe. At that moment, I chose a lifestyle book, and the writing was easy to follow, so I quickly understood the content.
I tried books that seemed I could read little by little, and gradually broadened my range of reading.
Before I fell ill, I loved reading dark novels such as mystery, horror, and dark fantasy. I picked up some books from my shelf and attempted to read them again, but somehow my brain didn't engage with those genres. Although I was a bit confused, I decided to bite the bullet and dispose of them. Perhaps as I got older, my preferences had changed.
I don't remember how much time had passed. One day, I managed to finish reading a novel with short stories and decided to try another novel. Surprisingly, I found myself able to read it. Encouraged by this progress, I attempted a foreign classic novel, but I ended up giving up in the middle.
I have stronger likes and dislikes than before, and there are still many authors whose writing isn't quite to my taste. However, the fact that I am able to read novels again represents significant progress for me. I'm very glad to immerse myself in the worlds of novels once more, pondering characters and feeling as though I'm living within the story.
My reading rehabilitation is still ongoing. Nowadays, my reading ability seems almost the same as before, but there are still many books I struggle to read. Perhaps it's not due to illness but rather my lack of reading comprehension.
"Which book will I read this week?" The moment to choose a book in a bookstore feels like a very precious time for me now.
