If I make a promise to something that does not exist, something that never existed, it still does not exist.  I can have no accountability to a lie, not to a hollow and rotten emptiness, and yet - and yet.  Logically, i cannot keep a promise to something imaginary, but my little Jiminy Cricket has sung up hurricanes: My promise itself is real, even if torn away.  I did that.

It's your fault, says the cricket, You weren't perfect enough.  If I had been, or if I hadn't.  If i had only known.  If you had been better you would not have this.  Thing is, i can't tell if it is the run-of-the-mill, anxiety-depressive, gaslit-victim stuff, or if there's something to it.  If I hadn't done anything wrong, would he still be making such a riot?  Come on, self.  You can do this.  Analyze.

Pick your heart apart like a corrupted scab.