I’d written about Christmas Day and my trek to the Shack but in abstract terms. I fractured myself into two characters: one who was real and the other who existed as a figment of the other’s imagination. Two figures, one trudging through snow toward a lake, one through rain along a beach. One battled through the physical sickness of PTSD. The other drank himself into a stupor. It ended with both characters finally seeing each other for the first time in the reflection of a bathroom mirror.
