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Reflections from the Other Side: A memoir of a mind dissecting itself.
I never meant to become a killer. At least, that's what I tell myself.
This is the story of how a man becomes something unrecognizable--told by the only one who truly understands him. I've written it as honestly as I can, though honesty is a strange thing when you've learned how easy it is to lie to yourself.
Between memories of childhood, love, and the first time I realized I could take a life, I've tried to explain what I've come to understand about the world--about morality, empathy, justice, and the fragile myths that make people feel safe.
Some will call this a confession. Others will call it madness.
I call it truth.
This is the story of how a man becomes something unrecognizable--told by the only one who truly understands him. I've written it as honestly as I can, though honesty is a strange thing when you've learned how easy it is to lie to yourself.
Between memories of childhood, love, and the first time I realized I could take a life, I've tried to explain what I've come to understand about the world--about morality, empathy, justice, and the fragile myths that make people feel safe.
Some will call this a confession. Others will call it madness.
I call it truth.
229 pages, Kindle Edition
Published November 15, 2025
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
January 1, 2026
***Seeing from the Other Side***
Reading "Reflections from the Other Side" feels like being in a dimly lit room, aware that something is happening just beyond your reach, but never being invited to step closer. Each reflection appears, lingers briefly, and then recedes, leaving the reader alone with what remains. There is no narration guiding the experience. You are not told where to look or what to feel. You are simply present. What matters is not where the reflections lead, but the space they create while you exist within them. Reading it feels less like being told a story and more like standing near someone thinking aloud, close enough to hear everything, but never invited to intervene.
The book examines ideas such as love, guilt, and connection from a distance as if they are objects placed on a table rather than emotions meant to be shared. They are observed, turned over, and left without conclusion. The absence of sentimentality is notable. The emotional distance in the writing feels deliberate, shifting the focus from vulnerability to clear observation. This approach may feel unsettling for readers who expect introspective writing to move toward comfort or resolution.
What makes the book compelling is its refusal to close the space it creates. The writing does not explain itself nor soften its edges. Silence plays as much of a role as language. In many moments, what is left unsaid carries more weight than what appears on the page. The reader is not guided toward meaning but left to confront their own reactions, assumptions, and interpretations.
This is not a book to rush through. The way these ideas are presented disrupts momentum, drawing attention away from progression and toward how the concepts are being viewed. Rather than guiding interpretation or offering resolution, the book presents these reflections as they exist within a different perspective, leaving the reader to consider how their own understanding compares. If it works for you, it will stay with you quietly, like something you were not meant to hear but did. If it doesn’t, it will still have done exactly what it intended.
Reading "Reflections from the Other Side" feels like being in a dimly lit room, aware that something is happening just beyond your reach, but never being invited to step closer. Each reflection appears, lingers briefly, and then recedes, leaving the reader alone with what remains. There is no narration guiding the experience. You are not told where to look or what to feel. You are simply present. What matters is not where the reflections lead, but the space they create while you exist within them. Reading it feels less like being told a story and more like standing near someone thinking aloud, close enough to hear everything, but never invited to intervene.
The book examines ideas such as love, guilt, and connection from a distance as if they are objects placed on a table rather than emotions meant to be shared. They are observed, turned over, and left without conclusion. The absence of sentimentality is notable. The emotional distance in the writing feels deliberate, shifting the focus from vulnerability to clear observation. This approach may feel unsettling for readers who expect introspective writing to move toward comfort or resolution.
What makes the book compelling is its refusal to close the space it creates. The writing does not explain itself nor soften its edges. Silence plays as much of a role as language. In many moments, what is left unsaid carries more weight than what appears on the page. The reader is not guided toward meaning but left to confront their own reactions, assumptions, and interpretations.
This is not a book to rush through. The way these ideas are presented disrupts momentum, drawing attention away from progression and toward how the concepts are being viewed. Rather than guiding interpretation or offering resolution, the book presents these reflections as they exist within a different perspective, leaving the reader to consider how their own understanding compares. If it works for you, it will stay with you quietly, like something you were not meant to hear but did. If it doesn’t, it will still have done exactly what it intended.
Displaying 1 of 1 review