The Image Had a Gorgeous Instagram, But the Structure Never Answered Your DMs
Why everything that looked like safety kept collapsing (and what your tissue knew all along
Your nervous system has been hiring based on aesthetics for decades and is genuinely confused why the retention rate is so low. The apartment looked like it understood natural light. The job had a title that made your mother stop asking questions. The relationship came with a kitchen where someone might actually cook. And now you’re standing in the rubble wondering what the fuck happened, because it looked like the thing. It felt like the thing. It wore the costume of the thing so convincingly that your whole body exhaled for the first time in years.
Your blood knew something your mind refused to count. There were signals. The texture of certain silences. The way your chest tightened in spaces that were supposed to be safe. Your tissue has been keeping receipts your consciousness marked as spam.
Welcome to the wreckage, starling. This is where Image and Structure finally have their custody hearing, and spoiler alert: one of them never actually showed up for parenting duties.
