I try to meditate on what had just happened at the Keel-Bridge tonight. The more I thought on it, the more I realized there was something about it that was terrifying. I stare at the wall ahead of me, trying to piece it all together. I realized that I didn’t feel like myself anymore; I provoked a fight without regard for collateral damage, I hold people at knifepoint over hunches, but both of those I might be able to excuse on a really bad day. What I couldn’t ignore, however, was the fight itself. I felt nothing as I waited for him to overextend himself, and I felt nothing as I was about to end him after I’d already won. What’s wrong with me? I feel my heart sink as I place my head in my hands. I stand up and go to the sink in the bathroom, splashing my face with water. As I pull my head back up, I see that same figure, but this time she’s wordless. She just stares at me, and I stare back before walking out of the bathroom.

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I realized that I barely felt any guilt for my actions specifically. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I’ve been handing the reins to hopelessness, to cynicism, and to her. Yes, that had to be the only explanation, right? I’ve been letting her guide my hand and my heart, and I should be disgusted at what she’s made me do, but… I just don’t have the emotional energy left to do that, and I can’t help but admit that it feels safer this way. I’m disappointed in myself, but I push it aside as I finally let myself rest.