These days, the vegan cafe I run is across the street from a butcher shop. Often, I see dead pigs hanging in the window. I’m proud of the work I did as an undercover investigator, but the great irony is that I can’t feel anything from looking at that pig now. My impulse for compassion had to be suppressed too many times — my goal, now, is to return to the part of myself that could feel it. I don’t know how to get back there, but at least the nightmares are starting to become less frequent.