Emotional Epiphany

Yesterday I had an emotional epiphany of sorts. I was reading a book called "Flow - the psychology of optimal experience" by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Essentially it talks about how fun works on a psychological level. The core idea of the book is a concept called Flow, which is a state of mind where you are engaged in what you do, exactly according to your ability.
When he talked about what people find happiness in he also mentioned getting a calypso. At this point I got a strong image of diving around a laguna in a warm climate. I closed the book and focused on this idea to better understand it.
When I did so I remembered that I had actually liked those things - tropical water life and deep-sea diving. Although I had never encountered either of them firsthand they were nonetheless fascinating for me a couple years ago. It's amazing how much I've forgot.
It happened between 6th and 7th grade. By the time I joined 7th I realized that I've lost a lot of my memories. I quickly understood that the memories are still there, I just can't access them because the way I think has changed. Over time I reclaimed some memories, but most are still gone.
Later on I've thought about this further and know what was special about those memories that I lost and why I was able to reclaim some. The way my mind changed was that I lost most of my ability to remember emotions. I feel normal, but when I try to think about how I felt at a specific time I just can't. Then again, this doesn't stop me from reminding myself how I looked at things. The logical, episodic part is still there. This is why I was able to regain some memories - I had mentally described my feelings at some points in life and thus I was able to access those descriptions.
The change itself was something I didn't feel happen. It was probably a result of domestic violence and the ensuing depression that I didn't notice until years later.
Since I didn't feel it happen, I also didn't realize for a while that anything was wrong. How could I?
It took me years to finally get it that the depth of my emotion is also lower. I don't find joy in most of the things I used to find it in.
I used to make plasticine figures and draw spaceships. Of course I can still do those things. I can even do them much better than I used to despite the lack of practice that I had for years. However, they no longer have as much relation to my inner fantasy as they used to. They no longer give me motivation to keep doing stuff. Yet, I see their flaws more clearly. I can attempt to draw something and then give up because the techniques I know are not good enough. When I was little I simply didn't care about those things. I was unable to see most flaws in what I made and as such, I was happy with it. They were only pieces to support my inner narrative, not art on their own. Is it a problem that a chess piece doesn't look like an actual soldier? Not really. Do anime characters look photo-realistic? No.
Those things don't need to be exactly right, because what matters is not their execution, but the idea. The same applied to my creations in the past, but since I've lost sight of the narrative I've started to focus more on the external part that doesn't truly matter. It's surely easier to present, but that doesn't motivate me.
My standards for myself have risen, but in effect it only ruins the fun instead of making me work harder.

When I thought about diving I saw again for a short time my inner narrative. I saw meaning. It made me wonder what the hell I had been doing all this time. Why I hadn't done anything about this interest of mine if it can give me so much pleasure just by accidentally thinking about it. As a result, I have felt good today.
Thinking about the details of how to achieve this dream has kept me busy and I love to work on this. Of course it's only a matter of time until I relapse into numbness, but while this emotion lasts I want to treasure it.

Looking back at what I wrote today I can see that I'm talking about something emotional. This is unusual for me, as I am usually stuck in thinking with purely logic. The numbness makes me so.
This has objectively great relevance to me, because it shows that what L had given me is something I can also produce myself. The way she motivated me and made me more emotional is not only an aspect of her, but also of me. Knowing this is reassuring, as it proves that my happiness is not about what happens outside, but how I handle it inside.