The strange thing is that I hardly ever think about my neck during sessions anymore.
I think about it afterward.
That is where the problem begins.
Because during the session everything had an explanation.
There was a reason for every position.
Every correction.
Every minute of waiting.
Even the discomfort.
Even the exhaustion.
Everything belonged to a specific context.
But now it does not.
Now I am sitting on a bus.
Or walking down an ordinary street.
Or trying to read something.
And suddenly I notice a slight tension in my neck.
Nothing important.
Nothing unusual.
The kind of sensation most people would ignore.
And yet I cannot ignore it.
Because something else immediately follows.
Not the memory of a session.
Not exactly.
What appears is the sensation of having been adjusted.
And I hate that word.
Because it implies a kind of closeness I do not want to acknowledge.
But I cannot find a better one.
Something was adjusted.
Something shifted slightly out of its original position.
And since then certain things seem to fit differently inside my head.
Not better.
Not worse.
Just differently.
Sometimes I try to remember what things felt like before.
That is the part that makes me sad.
Because I realize I am beginning to lose the ability to remember clearly.
I cannot remember what it felt like to look at a room without comparing it to another room.
I cannot remember what it felt like to wait for something without feeling the shadow of an older wait behind it.
I cannot remember what it felt like to be completely alone inside my own thoughts.
Now there always seems to be something occupying space.
Not physically.
Not as a presence.
More like a reorganization.
As if someone quietly moved the furniture around inside a house while I was distracted.
Everything still works.
But nothing is exactly where it used to be.
That is what makes me sad.
Not the session.
Not the pain.
Not the corrections.
The reorganization.
The discovery that part of me continues orienting itself toward something even when I consciously do not want it to.
There are days when the image appears in absurd ways.
I am working.
Talking to someone.
Buying groceries.
Doing something completely ordinary.
And suddenly I remember a specific period of waiting.
Not an event.
A wait.
I remember looking at the floor.
I remember not knowing how much longer remained.
I remember feeling that the process was continuing somewhere beyond my reach.
And the worst part is how familiar that feeling has become.
Far too familiar.
As if some part of me is still waiting for something to conclude.
As if I am still there.
Not because I want to be.
But because something inside me learned to orient itself around that expectation.
And the more I reject that idea, the more obvious it becomes.
Because I am still angry.
I still deny it.
I still think I do not want to be submissive.
And that is exactly why the question remains.
If I truly do not want any of this…
Why does it continue occupying so much space?
Why does the sadness appear when I try to imagine a life completely separate from it?
Why does it feel as though something important would be missing?
I do not have answers.
Only the uncomfortable suspicion that the adjustment never happened in my neck.
Or at least not only there.
That the real adjustment was discovering that another person could quietly reorganize the entire landscape of your thinking.
And that months later you are still finding traces of it in places where they should never appear.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
