Being a nervous system in this laboratory means realizing too late that what I call a decision doesn’t last.
It lasts a few minutes. Sometimes less. Then it returns.
I tell myself I’ve closed it.
That I’m not interested.
That I don’t like it.
I think it with a strange calm, almost clean.
As if I finally understood something.
And yet, later, I open it again.
I don’t know why.
Or I do, but I don’t want to phrase it that way.
It’s strange.
The more I reject it, the more it appears like internal pressure, not fully physical, not fully mental either. Something in between.
Like an idea that refuses to stay still.
I promise myself I won’t look again.
That’s it.
That I understand now.
But the word “understand” doesn’t last.
It always breaks at some point in the day.
There is no exact moment when I return.
That’s the worst part.
No decision.
Only repetition.
And repetition doesn’t feel like choice.
It feels like a small failure.
I’ve started noticing something uncomfortable.
It’s not that I think about it.
It’s that I anticipate it.
Before opening anything, before searching, before “just looking for a second”, a part of me is already waiting for it.
That’s what I don’t want to admit.
Because if I admit it, it’s no longer curiosity.
It becomes something else.
And that “something else” grows without permission.
There are days when I try to erase everything.
Close tabs.
Delete references.
Convince myself.
And it works… for a while.
Then it comes back.
Not the same.
Not worse.
Different.
As if the problem is not what I saw, but the fact that I saw it once.
Just once already changes how I see everything else.
And that makes me uncomfortable, even when no one is there.
Sometimes I tell myself it’s just curiosity.
But curiosity shouldn’t persist like this.
It shouldn’t come back on its own.
It shouldn’t take up so much space when I don’t call it.
And yet it does.
And it takes more space each time.
There is something worse I don’t understand.
It’s not what I see.
It’s what I remember without trying.
Fragments.
Images I didn’t search for again, but they return anyway.
And at that point I don’t know anymore if I’m remembering them or reconstructing them without realizing it.
That’s what confuses me.
I can’t tell where what I saw ends and what I imagine begins.
I don’t keep reading because I understand more.
I keep reading because I understand less.
That sentence is not beautiful.
It is exact.
And then there is the most uncomfortable part:
the part that no longer feels like pure curiosity.
It feels like waiting.
Not for something specific.
Just waiting.
As if something inside me is waiting to enter the same place again, even while I deny it.
And that leaves me in a contradiction I can’t resolve.
Because one part of me wants to stop.
And another part disagrees, but cannot explain itself either.
There are moments when I truly decide.
This time for real.
I think it clearly.
“That’s it. I won’t go back.”
And it feels closed.
For a few minutes it works.
Then I open something again.
Not from strong impulse.
From something smaller.
Almost automatic.
As if the gesture was learned before the decision.
And then I realize something I don’t want to think too deeply about:
the decision doesn’t erase anything.
it only postpones it.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
