Just open that brain of yours. It’s probably not as bad as you remember. Take a peek, ride those waves. What’s the analysis? Can you continue on, knowing the truth? If not, you should reconsider your thoughts. Kill the dated monster that made you who you are and step forward.
This feeling you are having right now can never be exactly and accurately replicated. You can reach at it in your memory, claw through those demons struggling out of their cage, but you will never have enough traction under your feet to feel this in the same way. What’s it feel like?
Does this particular emotion of yours sit in the stern of a fog-encased ship out at sea? Is that clanging I am hearing the clamoring of the “land’s ahoy” bell? I hear you, friend. You are ringing it with impudence and shame. Tell me, how in the earthly world do you manage both?
I no longer wail for you. But I dare to pray that you find your way back home to us—with all your precious thoughts and feelings intact.
Your last words to me were, “Be a good boy, Pytor. Beware the bandersnatch.” Your own personal Jabberwocky was always calling. It’s not mine. I do believe in fear but not terror. I wield my own swords more brilliantly than you ever could. Watch me now. I’m moving along. Riding bulls. Getting laid. Doing life before it does me. Everything works. Except these memories of you. And I am awakening now and I suppose I must now be driven. I shall enter your realm to save you. I will seek you out in the desperate world of your own making and steal you back to normalcy. Lord knows you can’t do it alone. So here I come, Dad. Goddamn you for it all.