I feel like a part of me has gone missing, that I don’t need to express the same preferences as my spouse/offspring.
It’s as if I’ve had an ungainly extra limb growing from my side, useless and always present, and had it amputated. My life is better for it, but I feel … phantom dysfunction. Or something. I feel like I should scratch the itch on my neurosis’ wrist, but it’s gone and I can’t, and the loss is overwhelming.
Like that. Or in the ball park. My psychopathology taxonomy functions are all off-line tonight.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry