My Conflict with Cognition

My Conflict with Cognition

 

The GRIP has retreated, yet its echo lingers—a phantom limb of integrated shadow. My sole refuge is narration: to catalogue the event, analyse the psychical intrusion, and report the findings. However, the words feel empty, a fragile defence against an encroaching storm. My mind drifts to an infuriating calm amidst the chaos, prompting the thought, "Just talk it through." I'd always dismissed this concept as intellectual trash, yet how can survival be guaranteed without a constant internal dialogue? My mind yearns for a voice, a narrator to make sense of the abyss.

 

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