I don’t spend my life struggling with the man in West Virginia, Sara. I spend my days struggling with the man inside me. After all of those years, he became a part of me. Psychologists have different names for this. Some label this phenomenon as internalization. It’s like there are tapes that play selective memories through the mind. But i’m like you, Sara. All I see is a blank screen. Sure, I can sort through the photo albums and pick out a few good memories and a few bad memories, but for the most part, the man I carry with me is disengaged, and above all: silent. 

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