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I can't remember when my mother died.

If it was on the 24th or the 25th.

It wasn't that I had no memory of it. Only it did not seem a memory of mine. It was the memory of another person - the other me. A separate person - a separate reality. While I often recalled it, I felt nothing. My mind looked at the memories in double vision. There existed three versions of me. Myself, my body, and the other separate self and existed right below the skin and slightly to the left of my own. I know that it's likely problematic and I find myself terrified of the day when I wake up to find that my selves have merged. A long awaited but horrific eclipse when I would have to face the reality of my situation - that I was a whole person, who experienced things wholly, with all the pain and the emotions that came with it.

I saw myself disconnected. I felt things irregularly, and there was a break somewhere between my mind and my body. I thought myself better that way, that I was better than others for it, that it brought me closer to the Gods because my mind wasn't static. It shifted and flowed. My mind existed not in one place but in three at once. My mind was somewhere

Fragments

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