Stories told by me about myself.
The stone that is always with me.

When I was eight years old, I began to have episodes of melancholy. I was examined and found to have a stone in my gallbladder.

This changed my life:
they identified and named an unhealthy, unacceptable part of me.

Recently, as a psychological practice, I wrote a letter to my stone. A letter full of love and offers of friendship.

In response, I received a letter full of malice. The stone berated me with curses for my naivety, my softness. Since then, I associate it with unexpressed anger.

It's good to know that it is still with me.