I am beginning to suspect that the obsession no longer revolves around the Master.
And that idea frightens me more than anything else.
Because for weeks I believed the problem had a recognizable shape.
I thought the answer was simple.
I thought I was obsessed with a person.
A dynamic.
An experience.
A specific sensation.
But every time I try to reduce it to one of those things, something does not fit.
There is always something left over.
A residue.
A deeper layer.
As if the real explanation were buried underneath all the others.
I do not like being submissive.
I still do not like it.
The sentence remains true.
But it no longer feels sufficient.
Because if this were simply submission, I could understand it.
And if I could understand it, I could place it on a mental shelf.
I could label it.
Classify it.
Reduce it.
But the opposite keeps happening.
Every time I define it, it grows.
Every time I contain it, it expands.
Every time I observe it, I discover it was already observing me.
That is what begins to concern me.
Not the intensity.
The depth.
The way it seems to extend invisible roots into places I did not even know existed.
There are moments when I think about the Master and no specific image appears.
I do not see a session.
I do not see a command.
I do not see a scene.
What appears instead is a sense of orientation.
As if for a few seconds I remember where north is.
And when it disappears, I lose it again.
Perhaps that is why everything feels so strange when I am away from him.
Not because something is missing.
But because something is no longer aligned.
Like a compass that still functions but no longer knows where it is pointing.
Over the last few days I have noticed something else.
The obsession no longer appears only when I think.
It begins to appear when I stop thinking.
In the empty spaces.
In the dead moments.
In the seconds when nothing is happening.
And that is exactly where it becomes strongest.
Because it no longer needs to be summoned.
It is already there.
Waiting.
As if it occupied the space before I arrived.
Sometimes I wonder when it truly began.
And the harder I try to answer, the less clear it becomes.
Because I am starting to suspect it did not begin during a session.
It did not even begin when I met the Master.
Perhaps it began with the first crack.
The first feeling that something was missing.
And now the Master occupies that place.
But perhaps the place existed before him.
That is what makes everything so unsettling.
Because it would mean I am not waiting for a person.
I am waiting for an answer.
And the longer that answer takes to arrive, the larger the space that contains it becomes.
Entire days are built around that absence.
Whole days where I seem to be doing other things.
Working.
Walking.
Reading.
Talking.
Answering messages.
And yet beneath all of it, the same silent mechanism continues operating.
The same question.
The same waiting.
The same feeling that something important is still unfinished.
Sometimes I think the sadness comes precisely from that.
Not from being away from the Master.
But from discovering that a part of me no longer knows how to exist away from the waiting.
And that difference is terrifying.
Because a person can leave a place.
Leave a habit.
Leave an idea.
But how do you leave a waiting?
How do you leave something that has already become the landscape?
Perhaps that is the layer I am beginning to see now.
The deepest one so far.
The possibility that the obsession is no longer something I possess.
Not even something that possesses me.
The possibility that the obsession has become the place where I live.
The neck I am not moving it the neck has locked…
