{"product_id":"letter-018-a-controlled-autopsy-of-myself","title":"Letter 018 — A Controlled Autopsy of Myself","description":"\u003cp\u003eDear me,\u003cbr\u003eFuck you.\u003cbr\u003eThe very first sentence I wrote to myself four months ago, and 018 letters earlier.\u003cbr\u003eI don't know what came over me on Thursday, coming home after a live gig — two single girlfriends and three margaritas later — but I sat in front of the mirror, intending to remove my makeup, and my hand wasn't moving, and my eyes were glued to the reflection.\u003cbr\u003eI think it was a sudden curiosity.\u003cbr\u003eI remember thinking, so what, are you different now?\u003cbr\u003eMy lips were unsettled, like they were trying to speak, but there was no one else but myself there.\u003cbr\u003eWho was I intending to talk to?\u003cbr\u003eI put the wet wipe down and stared for another minute.\u003cbr\u003eI said out loud, \"so now what?\"\u003cbr\u003eI opened my laptop, still sitting in front of myself, and started reading my last letter.\u003cbr\u003eBy the second sentence, I stopped.\u003cbr\u003eDear me, let's see if you are any different.\u003cbr\u003eSo instead, I started from the beginning:\u003cbr\u003eI laid my dead memories on the table.\u003cbr\u003eCarefully cleaned the wounds in Letter 001.\u003cbr\u003ePulled the rubber gloves tight.\u003cbr\u003eThen I made the first incision.\u003cbr\u003eDear me, fuck you…\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI started with the spine — Chapter I.\u003cbr\u003eReading out loud, my gaze divided between the mirror and the screen.\u003cbr\u003eOn one side, my mouth was running; on the other, my face was observing like it didn't recognise the subject.\u003cbr\u003eThe structure was there — intact, functional — but rigid.\u003cbr\u003eFrom the mix of reactions, the most unexpected one was validation.\u003cbr\u003eIt was accurate.\u003cbr\u003eAll of it.\u003cbr\u003eEven the confusion of who the fuck I am.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter II.\u003cbr\u003eThe hands.\u003cbr\u003eGripping without substance.\u003cbr\u003eHolding position, but not holding anything real.\u003cbr\u003eA prolonged attachment to an illusion of movement — like circulation without progression.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBy Chapter III, I was already a glass of red in — preparing for impact.\u003cbr\u003eThe nervous system.\u003cbr\u003eReactive. Hyperstimulated.\u003cbr\u003eThe toxic patterns, the desire, the weaknesses, even the humiliations — ironically the most familiar tissue in the whole examination.\u003cbr\u003eI think it's because I never allowed myself to see it from the other side of the table.\u003cbr\u003eBut I was there.\u003cbr\u003eI am there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBy the time I reached Chapter IV and made the incision through the chest, I knew what I was looking at.\u003cbr\u003eNo surprises.\u003cbr\u003eJust retained mass.\u003cbr\u003eSomething that no longer functions but still occupies space like it has authority.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDear me, somewhere between the readings and the observation, my writing changed.\u003cbr\u003eMore fragmented.\u003cbr\u003eMore precise.\u003cbr\u003eLess need to explain what I already understand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwo hours of dissection.\u003cbr\u003eA controlled autopsy of myself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe report is clear: change requires three things — self-destruction, truth, a high tolerance for no, and a final decision.\u003cbr\u003eI said three. I meant four. Even my arithmetic is becoming.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDear me, I like watching you in the mirror.\u003cbr\u003eNot in a sentimental way.\u003cbr\u003eMore like observing a subject that finally started cooperating.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp style=\"text-align:center\"\u003e—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI think I'm onto a new phase.\u003cbr\u003eA ritual, if you will.\u003cbr\u003eOr whatever this bullshit is clinically called.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Love Letters To Myself","offers":[{"title":"Default","offer_id":57916282765643,"sku":null,"price":1.49,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1064\/4802\/7979\/files\/LLTM_Banner_2_5425acae-0d03-4bb1-9444-33ac6b8a3170.jpg?v=1785562889","url":"https:\/\/loveletterstomyself.co\/products\/letter-018-a-controlled-autopsy-of-myself","provider":"Love Letters To Myself","version":"1.0","type":"link"}