For as long as I can remember, I’ve intensely studied people. I didn’t used to understand anyone. I didn’t even understand myself. I felt things, though. And with great effort, slowly, people are starting to make sense. My comprehension is born from reverse-engineered mathematics: this equals that, but, not always. Feelings don’t follow rules. Results vary. Now I people gaze from far away. The expanse helps me notice things they can’t see when they’re in it. Things I still can’t see in myself.
Horror is familiar. I live in an abyss, am comfortable with nothingness. I have always felt a deep internal disquiet. Unease. To lose yourself is to find a buried version you didn’t know was there. We all have layers. I’m only really interested in the ultimate inside, our actual guts. Whatever is at the core informs every single cell around it. Everything else is an intricate pretense, a defense.
Deep down I know myself, even if I don’t understand her yet. Everything I do is an attempt to get her out, to make her feel safe, to show her that she’s gonna be okay. And really, this is that. I am alive, just right now. Never will it be just like this again. To capture this feels like a gift and a sacred responsibility.