I was trying to explain why I felt like a monster, rooting through my memory for anything fucked up I had ever thought or done. After the phone call ended, the weight remained. Something pressed and clawed at my insides. I started to dissociate. I could make out the contours of a brittle shell, built up over years of psychic scabbing. Wrapping around it was a sinister shadow, an attachment to masculinity, with teeth. It smiled as it prodded something floating at the center of the shell. Looking inside, I could see the embryonic form of a little girl. I sensed that she had been crying for many years. I also detected another presence, a woman standing at the margins. She said nothing. I knew she had endured what the other had been denied. There was a coup. I reached inside, pried the shadow away, and punctured the shell before it could close again. The embryonic form, pale and defenseless, swam into the arms of its witness. I struggled with the shadow as it thrashed against me, digging its fangs into my flesh. I dared not loosen my grip. Blood streamed down my face and into the rubble of memory as my history collapsed around me.