Most of us wonder what would happen if we took a different path in life. I don't have to wonder. I have a twin. Briefly, at the very beginning of our existence, my sister and I were one. This is not a metaphor. Our genetic make-up was not merely identical; it was materially the same. For a handful of days, we occupied the exact same space at the exact same time.

What are the layers of self-doubt? There must be layers, like sediment and ash. I think they are row upon row of bad experiences. Here is a time our judgement was poor. Here is a risk taken and lost. Here is an outstanding failure. Here is harm done. They pile one on top the other and compress. The pressure narrows our vision to one fine point: something is coming, and it cannot be good.

Two roads neurodiverged in a wood... A forest can be quiet, but it can never be silent. There is simply too much there. How many individual leaves are there to rustle? How many insects are there to chitter? How many birds to sing and animals to step? It is not deafening, or even loud, but it is cacophonous. My mind is like that.

I wonder if Shakespeare ever felt like drowning. Did he empathize with Ophelia? Did he ever feel what it is to drown? Drowning is to be overwhelmed. It involves pressure. Which is so strange. I think about that sometimes. I think about how odd it is to be floating and to be crushed. Does a scream feel the same as a whimper underwater?