Shanika tells me that I need to get some life in me.
There is life in me though. I'm the same as ever. It's all right there.
I just don't feel it. There is a detachment, and there is a space, a surrounding distance, and that is what I feel. I can see it, and I know that it is real as a document of myself. But what I feel is the ongoing gap between the life in me and me because this is where I cut you out of me.
Seeing my life as a document allowed for a more practical critique of the real life that I have been living and excluding the infinite spectrum of potential life, mechanations, and fantasies. I began to ask myself why this hurt so much and why I had so much resentment. I began to see the pain and resentments as collateral damage to what I had done to myself. So much of what I have done to myself has been done with you - you and yours - through no fault of your own. And when I saw these things even the question of why and instead of what had I done to myself. Then the pain didn't prompt questions, because the pain itself was the answer.
This was how I stopped questioning the pain and the resentments. This was when I stopped oblidging myself endlessly into reproach and on into thoughts of how nice it would be to contract some sort of fungal meningitis accidentally from a steroid shot and just get a pass on it all. It may well be that I do. But when I think about all the ways that I hurt you, innumerable and undue, I really want my spine to die and take me with it. Collateral damage - just take the pain and resentment ments, the mechanations and fantasies, the times he's poured you wine and kissed your face. It'd be perfect.