I don’t know when I started looking at this.
It’s not a clear decision.
It’s more like the gesture of opening it again without thinking.
I looked at it again today.
Again.
And I realized something I don’t fully want to admit.
It’s not the content that hooks me.
It’s the moment right before it.
That second where I could still not do it.
But I already am.
I felt something strange in my body afterwards.
Not the kind of excitement I expected at first.
It’s more confused.
More uncomfortable.
Like a tension in my chest that doesn’t fully leave.
Not when I close it.
Not when I try to think about something else.
I’ve started noticing I do it in silence.
Without moving much.
As if that makes it less real.
But it doesn’t.
There’s something off about the way I return.
It’s not normal repetition.
It feels like I come back slightly before I decide to.
Or slightly after.
I don’t know which is worse.
I’ve read things I shouldn’t have read.
Not because they matter.
But because they now take up space.
And I don’t know how to remove them.
I’ve caught myself checking the history more than I should.
Not looking for anything specific.
Just checking if it’s still there.
As if that explained something.
I’ve deleted things.
Sentences.
Notes.
Tabs.
But what bothers me is that they don’t feel gone.
They just move somewhere else.
There’s a very specific moment that keeps repeating.
Not the content.
The moment right before I close everything.
And I don’t.
One more second.
Always one more second.
I’ve tried deciding not to do it.
Not to look.
Not to return.
But that decision always appears after.
Never before.
And that’s what bothers me.
I wrote something without thinking:
“it’s not curiosity if you’re already affected”
I don’t know why I wrote it.
I don’t know why I read it again.
Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m reading the same thing twice.
But like I’m reading something that changes right when I try to fix it in place.
That makes me doubt basic things.
Whether I did it.
Whether I decided it.
Whether I started it myself.
I noticed something stranger today:
before I open it, I already feel like I’ve opened it before.
Not as memory.
As a wrong kind of anticipation.
And I don’t know how to say it without sounding absurd.
But there is a strange calm in that.
As if the decision is already made somewhere else.
I closed everything quickly again.
Without thinking.
As if staying in the same second was dangerous.
I don’t know what happens in that second.
Only that I try not to stay there.
I have to move my neck.
I’m not moving it.
But I write it before I understand why.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
