Chapter 6 – From the Bed to the Coffin

This is the narrowing.

Life compresses into a corridor with no exits, only stations. Beds become cells where the body negotiates ceasefires with pain. Coffins stop feeling symbolic and start feeling logistical. Childhood reveals itself not as memory, but as an untreated injury that dictates posture, reflex, and fear.

The music here crawls. It drags itself forward on habit, obligation, and spite. Survival is no longer framed as courage — it is muscle memory refusing to shut off. Goodbyes are rehearsed without audience. Fantasies of disappearance lose their drama and gain specificity.

This chapter is not about wanting to die. It is about understanding how easily life funnels toward it.