For years I was unaware of the need to heal that split, and there was no one, after I returned, to point this out to me. . . . Why did I assume there was only one person inside me? . . . There’s a part of me that just loves maiming, killing, and torturing. This part of me isn’t all of me. I have other elements that indeed are just the opposite, of which I am proud. So am I a killer? No, but part of me is. Am I a torturer? No, but part of me is. Do I feel horror and sadness when I read in the newspapers of an abused child? Yes. But am I fascinated?
