“If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive.”
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"I slipped my hand behind my ribcage, removed my heart, and smashed it into the carpet."
For me, it was more like getting hit. A bowling ball in the guts, right there in your heart and your belly and crunching ribs and piercing lungs and all the vital places that keep you alive. I have this idea of a slowed-down black and white video of a human, like a crash test dummy, getting hit by a canon ball, their limbs soaring as their middle unnaturally propels them after the impact. That's how "what it felt like" runs in my head and how I see it now, and I don't know if this idea is real / something I saw, or part of that painting I made, or just what I have constructed to symbolize the feeling. But I suspect both of our reactions are related to the deaths; my dad died in a car crash, not of a heart attack.
"I’ve never felt as connected to a person as I did to him and I think everybody has one person like this because it’s a spot defined by its singularity. Maybe it’s your wife, your mom, your brother, your sister, your best friend. It’s a feeling so enormous that when I detect even one faint chord of it in a connection with somebody else, I dig my talons right in."
Yup, it's the certainty that you know that nothing is like it, nothing else is this same thing -- that's what is haunting. You're always chasing it and mourning it, and trying not to expect it, because thinking it could be possible with anyone else ever again is the hardest part of all.
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