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Is it a matter of impulse control? In the midst of that raging battle between different sides of myself, one side frequently gains the upper hand by deleting every trace of a project that had occupied me at length.

I’ve done this so many times in my life, obliterating hundreds of thousands of words in just seconds, or else purging illustrations and designs once crafted with love — including every backup.

But inevitably, regret swiftly follows, weeks or month later. In the days before solid state drives, there was sometimes hope of a partial recovery, reconstructed from the unoverwritten portions of an optical drive. But no more.

Now, one half of myself begs to know why I did that, as if I cut off my nose to spite my own face. I am clear as to the answer in my own mind. Because it was a distraction, or because it was leading me astray, or sending me headlong into sin.

Still, after that moment of resolve come the regrets, calling me back to reconstruct all that I had set aside. And here the loud clamour from within: “Why on earth did you break everything, knowing as you did that you would inevitably return?”

And so here we are once more, at that very juncture. But my will is broken, and I can no longer be bothered to embark, knowing all too well that in days or weeks or months to come, my better side will hit delete once more. This the unceasing cycle, to and fro, between the two sides of my soul.