What Were My Dreams Trying to Tell Me?
Illustrations by Hélène Blanc
When I was 20 years old, I started to sense a hole inside me. The feeling was utterly concrete, though the result of no medical condition that any of the various doctors I saw could identify. The hole felt like a viscous emptiness—a paradox, admittedly, as any real emptiness should have felt like nothing. This was a nothing, but its nothingness very much felt like something—and something that was growing.