Let's not start with the usual 'it's been while'. I'm anyhow talking to myself.

I've decided to start writing memoires for my own self, see where I stand today, where I'll go tomorrow and wherever I'll end up in the end.

My life is like a house of cards. Building carefully and getting good results, but then, someone/something always opens up the window during a tornado, so I can start again. Question really is, how many times is someone supposed to start all over again and again.

Maybe I'm thinking wrongfully, maybe it didn't collapse, but it's making a statement where I need to improve my foundations. But then again, things which make me sad are things I cannot control at all.

I'm facing a sentence of 3 years in prison. And I haven't got the slightest clue why. I mean, yes, I might have caused an accident, and yes, a guy passed away. But then again, I have already done a sentence of 5 years now. 5 Years in agonizing terror and pain, isn't that like more than enough? Probably not.

But all of this wouldn't be so hard to endure if I'd only could share the weight. But I can't. There is no one - except for my loving wife who still doesn't quite understand what mental pain is - to listen to me. Anyone who does, is doing that just because I asked for it. No one ever calls me, asks me what's going on really. Anyone, except my second brother - J. He does. He remembers, He asks. I start to believe he might be actually interested. At all.

Don't know if I already wrote on this subject, but there is this "how are you?" question. A generic question, mostly used with as much purpose as saying "hi". When my marriage almost failed, and we went to hear some lectures on relationship, we've learned that ANY relationship solely bases on communication. About sincere communication that is. My shrink told me to ask my wife a simple question: "How are you? But not the substitutional how are you, but the real one, how are you really? Profoundly? Be honest. 

Lots of things change suddenly. It's like you can see through the window much clearer, as if it was always obscured by these half-transparent curtains. 

Well, this is what's really missing. There is no one who profoundly asks me how I am, except for J. Even my brother is reluctant to ask, since he has a very sensitive attitude towards these things, and is also rather evasive, which is absolutely not to be seen as something negative, he simply is that way. And he's still the one I love the most on earth. But friends... What is a friend, if he/she doesn't share in the misery? Only small talk, that's not being a friend. At times, I even feel I'm pushing myself too hard to consider one a friend. Like A., he never asked me profoundly how I'm doing, not for the last two years. Or JH, it's like I want to see him far more than the opposite way. There is no one. Deal with it.

Then there is T. My current employer. He wants to help me desperately with my court-case (maybe because I'm not delivering results and he wants me to get over it), and now he went as far as to offer me a lawyer who would actually BRIBE the judge in court, so I can get off with a 1 year suspended... I got so confused I even hesitated to accept this 'offer'. He said, this was the usual way for doing 'business' in Hungary. Really??? I mean, I have seen a lot of things in this country, but never heard about a small guy bribing a judge. It's not Venezuela. So, now I'm pissed off even at him to even CONSIDER this an offer. It could have got me in even worse trouble. Didn't he actually think about this for a second?

What I should do:

- talk ONLY to the ones who really care, everyone else is just a fart in the wind in terms of communication (don't let yourself get 'advised' to,

- understand the huge cultural difference between my own people (as in: Dutch) and the Eastern-European former Soviet-block countries. They are all living in 1928 still. It is what it is.

- talk ONLY to the ones who really care, talk openly, respectfully, share, and accept

- talk ONLY to the ones who really matter, hear them out, ask them how THEY are

- fucking bullshit.

Hey there, it's been a long time - again. I haven't disappeared, just have been wandering through the cycle of mentality and instability. Going through those damned peaks and valleys. A month ago, my first court-session has taken place. Three years of imagining somehow brought fantasies into reality it seems; it has been exactly as I had visionized: a prosecutor with the face of a killer, a judge who has absolutely no fun in the job, my lawyer looking like a scholar in his toga, and of course, the fence. This fence:

Be honest, when you picture a courtroom, this is one of the first pieces of furniture you imagine, right? 

Anyhow, one hour of hearing whatever other think I might or might not have done, pretention, fiction. 600+ pages of absolute fantasy. Written by the Hungarian state to prove their right against my wrong. Wouldn't it be on me, probably would find it even funny in a way. How can you prosecute someone - anyone, based on a story written by some dude in his office, creating graphics on what MIGHT have happened. 

This is not why I'm visiting my journal again though, it's because I've taken a new - small - step in becoming a 'better' person. Since yesterday (28/10/2019) not smoking anymore, and also started running. I woke up at 5:30AM, put on my newly-purchased running shoes and ran the hell out of myself. And it felt good! Really, breathing, feeling I'm actually alive. I'm haveing a hard time right now though with no smoking, it seems the first 24hrs are easy, but what comes next is goddamn mental terrorism. I need to smoke badly, and I know it's not difficult to lessen the urge, I'm drinking coffee next to a goddamn cigarette shop as I write!

Anyhow, I'm going to do it. I'm proving MYSELF. Not you, not my kids, not anyone, just me! That I actually have the willpower. It's all about willpower anyhow, and who has willpower if not me? I've lived through terrible moments and survived every one of them. With pure willpower. So how can a stupid straw of pure cancer stop me? Sucking a straw, which is gruelly expensive, tastes like shit, stinks for days after, and only kills you in the end. Makes sense? No. ABSOLUTELY NOT. So fuck that and welcome my new HEALTHY life!

Dear Diary,

I'm here again. Wasn't far away, just absent. Seeing people getting hurt or upset due to my blogs, decided to stop.
Funny to see, that still I only see an urge to write and not read. I'm seeing I have a great number of blogs, but avoid reading them.

It's what I actually am now, what I became, or what I maybe always was. A coward. No, that's too harsh. Scared? Yes, more that way. Scared of facing my own truth. Of who I really am. I still face problems nowadays. Not as scary and mad as before, but still disturbing. It's like having a double personality; one strong and emotionless, the other scared, little child should never be hurt. Two complete opposites. 

There's a saying on meeting your own self along the way, and this is what actually is happening. I've been drinking again - badly. Like no stopping. Why? I have no answer. Tried to find out with the psychologist, who expressed sympathy in me being a child born to alcoholic parents. True. Constantly being exposed to stress, from very young onwards. True. Dealing with everything childhood, puberty, early grown-ups, and adulthood brings on my very own. True. But all this, why does it persistently lead to me abusing alcohol? Makes no sense, as I have seen only wrong examples, why would it make me follow what's wrong? Am I really doing it just to exit madness which life brings me. Probably it is, but not by purpose, not by planning. That's just when it already went wrong. Is it the medications which makes me handle it less easy? Hitting me hard? Partly, but I've been wasted many times before - countless times.

And now I'm here again, after a period of soberty - no, not soberty, I've done my drinking, but quite normally, wasted again. On purpose. I fell off my goddamn bike. Bleeding and all. And the shame I had to face - again - at home when my beloved saw me there again. I had again have to disappoint here, and it always backfires.

I could have make up so many excuses, this time I chose to bury it upon the miss of my parents, but to me also this seems a lie - a quite bad one. I've lied so many times, to so many people. If you could actually get rich of lying, I'd be a millionaire. But it's all about hurting and disappointing. It's got nothing to do with my alleged PTSD or accident or being an orphan, it's simply a malfunction inside myself and I want it to go AWAY.

I have to go to police again tomorrow morning, second time the investigation of the accident has been closed, and this time it's definitive. I'm scared as hell and it doesn't make me think about it easier to see my case finally breaking through one way or the other, it makes me just scared and little. What I'd do for a drink right now!! fuck, that's it, that's it. I'm simply terrified. Of myself. No one else. Nothing else. It's just what it's like being selfish, egocentric. Didn't you tell me once before? That I'm narcissistic. And I never believed you. Maybe it's time.

I have never been so deep into thinking about the very end of existence, or - if my initial perceptions are wrong - whatever's beyond death. Being so near to the end as I have been and seeing others cliffhanging onto the thin thread of life my mind keeps on bringing all these memories to my head, over and over. 

Last weekend, I brought my laptop back to life again. Ever since it's been repaired during the spring, I never felt like operating, but my wife needed it to compile some photo-albums. So I opened it and on the desktop I found something I couldn't remember ever writing. It was titled "this is the end my only friend". I have no direct clue when I have written it, it contained some of my most delicate secrets, which I would never be able to share with those who need to hear. Not only negative things, also lots of words of love I have no strength to sharing personally. Addressed to all those people involved in those delicate issues, but somehow I know it would hurt them so much. So I chose not sharing. Only when I'm not here anymore. 

It's like when my mom lied on her death-bed, when she knew ultimately that there is no way back. When she shared some of those things she never said since they would hurt so much. When you're facing the end, either by sickness, moments of despair, or suffering in an accident breathing your final breathe, then all of these hidden and dark emotions, thoughts and acts come up high and are the only thing in front of you. The need to share these for you were never courageous enough to do so.

Is it courage you need? What's the push to tell all those suppressed acts inside you for so long? When you ultimately not even forget them, maybe they lead your life all the way. Why aren't we sharing this when you're living your everyday life? Why only at moments of misery, or desperation? A strange thought slipped my mind. I just read an article about a young couple who have been living their lives in the strict rules of extreme christianity. Spending their youth together without ever being together due to a series of tales once invented by some people to tame their hoard. After marrying eachother and losing an unborn child, they parted with their belief. It wasn't their belief. Today they say "there is no god". Then I thought that these young people who actually lived most of their lives in true belief and thus sincerity have spent it in a pool of lies. Not only were they lied to, they lied to themselves. And even today, they will continue to lie, since it's nothing more than human instinct to do so. Petty lies to not hurt someone, but when hiding them it's no big deal. What brings us to doing so?

Anyhow, those written emotions in my last letter to mankind has been destroyed. I'm not planning to leave this world yet. Maybe - when time comes - I'll write it down again, but until then, these remain my secrets, either big or small. 

The inner urge to write is nothing more than a false output of everything inside of me wanting to scream out loud to certain persons in particular. Those I love the most. My uncertainty of my own being makes me insecure of my own relationships to others; I'm never sure who can handle what's inside of me and it's eating me. So, I choose to write it down and let everyone reading decide for themselves what to do with it. 

My current state of mind is full of doubt and I tend to not be honest to a lot of people, just because I'm not able to understand anyone's thoughts anymore. When you lose this very emotional binding with the people you love most, is there anything left to do? What could I do? I know it's all depending on me, if I do not share my thoughts, emotions, lust, aggression, fears and doubts, no one will be there to help me.

I know, everyone's busy with their own lives, and those lives naturally are worth more than what I'm in. The island I'm on seems to be inaccessible to anyone except me and maybe my psychologist. But then again, she's also only there because I pay her to hear me over. Whenever I tend to have found someone who is ready to take care of me, something goes terribly wrong. We get too close to eachother and instead of helping eachother we destruct eachother. Not the path which should be used. My wife, of course, she's there for me, but she has so much on hands, so much OUTSIDE of my own battle, that she simply lacks energy. It's not even something I could blame her for. With two kids life is difficult enough, and with a husband who is on world's most tremendous rollercoaster, always switching from bright positive mood to the darkest passages in human's mind life doesn't get any easier. 

She chose to hide away from my struggle and wait it out. It's just a question of time. But time doesn't make it easier, not without anyone to share the immense load on my shoulders. 

My two kids, they make life bright, the honest and unconditional love they show me as their daddy, it surely is the only thing I can hang on to now. But it seems to not be enough. Simply because I might be there physically for them, but mentally I'm a goddamn wreck, a battleship floating towards the bottom of the ocean, rotting all the way along. 

I'm strong, and apparently, I'm healing from this disease - at least that's what men tries to convince me of. But I just don't feel that way. I only feel that I'm losing everyone, everyone is so far away from me, a unbridgeable distance from safe shore to my island, an island where volcanoes are erupting by the day and where tide chokes you every night on and on.

To anyone who hears me, here's my thought: I'm still here, I'm fighting but I'm losing. There is no more strength, batteries are down, fear and guiltiness got a hold of me, strangling me. The worst part is that I have no clue anymore what to do, except for doing the same my wife does: waiting it all out. But for how long? How long is mankind to bear this? Not a day goes by when not thinking about ending it all. Do you have any clue what depression is? I'm not going to end it all, my kids would never forgive, but I need your help. Your help, reader, because it's killing me. And if you have no idea how you could possibly help, then most probably you can't. Now worries on that, I wouldn't know what to do neither.

Hi Dad, hope you're doing fine high above us. Hope you have met all your heroes who are suddenly all leaving this planet.

I just wondered... Would you have been proud of me if I'd survive this struggle I'm in right now and have been for the last one year? Or would you have been irritated - as usual - to not be so obsessed with my own problems, rather with yours? Would you believe in such a thing as revival? That men can actually re-start their life, clean sheet and so on? I guess not, since you're not here anymore neither. You couldn't re-start. Maybe you simply didn't believe in it.

Thought to speak to you, as a litany which never crossed my mouth when you were still here with us. 
I have literally hated you Dad, wished you never lived anymore. So mad of you, being the narcissistic egoistic self-concerned person you were. Never caring about anyone except for yourself. But maybe I'm not correct, and you only over-compensated yourself, the same way as I have done for 37 years.

But you know what? I've been confronted with my own behavior along the road last year, been shown a mirror, saw my true horrors. Like to see myself as a phoenix, rising from its ashes. Phoenix' rise from their ashes into the very same creature they were before. Phoenix might not be a good metaphor for me Dad. Maybe the best metaphor should be you. What you should have been/done, but never did. You could have been the Phoenix. Now I am. 

I'm pretty sure that if you'd still lived to experience, you would blame me for whatever situation I'm in right now. That I'm to blame for the accident, the fatality. Pretty sure that you wouldn't even believe my heroism right after the crash, the intuitive actions. You never saw that in me, and you would never want to. But what you would do is tell me to get myself together, that there is a family waiting for me.

Strange to say out loud, that you always cared about one other's family but never too much about your own. You never let Mommy be her true self, but then again she neither wanted. You never cared if we are there or not. But then again you begged us to come over now and then. You banned us all out of the house time by time, but then again cried out loud when we weren't there.

Get my shit together. This is what I'm in the middle of right now. And you know what? It feels good! I'm stronger than ever, could move mountains if needed. I will make my wife and kids feel loved again. I will sacrifice the narcissistic pieces I've inherited from you Dad. Because they hurt others. Like they hurt Mommy. You know she said that she's never lead the life she wanted to, right when she was about to pass away? That should be your mirror Dad. You have your mirror too, just like me. But you failed to see that mirror while alive, don't know where you are now and how you deal with it there. Surely Mommy's not around there, she wouldn't want to share heaven with you. Or maybe she would. Maybe you have indeed become the Phoenix you should have been while alive. And by really accepting this as a truth, I'm proud of you Dad. And I'm going to do the same way. I'll arise from my ashes. And I'll remember. And I'll never put down the mirror. It shows so much more than eyes can see. 

I love you Dad.

I never read back my blog entries, which probably looks funny to the reader, since I'm most probably repeating myself. I do feel that way, I'm not only in a rollercoaster; I'm in a rollercoaster that continuously goes round and round, always the same turns, pikes and hills, never stopping. 

Last few weeks I've gone through a terrible drain again, this time it was even more severe than ever before; it could have become fatal. Now, as in today, I found out by reading the signs that I have been standing still too long at the same point, thought that the point I've made to myself is true. That no-one understands me, no-one has ever been so down as I was. That I should show all the people around how terribly I'm suffering, instead of grabbing myself together. I was confronted with one word that resembled my whole life: "RESPONSIBILITY". Probably I never understood the real meaning of this, although so many signs showed where to go, what to handle. 

Besides the cliche of its meaning, responsibility starts with holding yourself accountable for your own life. And that doesn't mean that you should be beating yourself for failures and mistakes made along the way, no. No, it is being responsible for feeling good that you are accountable of. Nothing comes falling out of the sky into your lap, first you should be at the right spot to grab the opportunities. You can't do so if you're not doing everything to get into that very spot. 

I've lied way too much to everyone around me, it's about to start all over and take a stand. As from now, drama needs to make way for strength. And not only strength to survive, as that strength is nothing more than a desperate boost form your subconsciousness, it has nothing to do with you feeling better, in a way, it even drowns you. 

So here I am, being. Just being. Don't know if you have ever bothered to think about this. Have you ever felt being really alive? I recently deepened myself in meaning of life. And not the 42 thing. The real thing. Why people feel like going on and on, even while everyday is the same. The same struggle. Meaningless. 

A lot of cultures see life as an inbetween stage. They genuinely believe that there WAS something before and there WILL be something after. This aspect has recently got my attention. Why did I start with me just "being"? Except for my lovely wife and kids, there is simply nothing whatsoever left as being worthy of being called a life target. Nothing. 

As I wander around my own ridiculous terrifying mind, no day goes by waiting for that very spark called 'meaning'. Just watch everything from the outside, is it really meaningful to live a life only for the sake of others? I've read a blog about someone whose deepened herself into whatever people feel before they peacefully leave this forsaken place called life. She has asked hundreds of elder or terminated sick people whatever they miss the most or are truly unforgiven of. There were five things which always returned, but all pointed back to that one sacred thing: lack of being yourself and pursuing your own goals. When my mother passed away, just a few days before that, she exactly told the same thing. She was sorry for not living the life she always wanted. So, you pass away, and you look back at..? Nothing? No, certainly not nothing. We are here - her children, and we are alive and awake. But does that give meaning to your life? Did it to her? No. 

I want to explore the ruins of humanity. I want to find my target in life. Speak to people who know that life is too short to wait for things to happen. Pursue happiness (loved that film btw). It simply doesn't make too much sense to just be. Just being means you're not happy, and you cannot fully live your life. When you have a clear target which makes YOU happy, that happiness spreads over to the ones next to you. Your beloved ones. So, if it isn't there, all you spread is misery. Contaminate your beloved ones. Your wife, your children. 

What I truly want right now is to leave everything behind - if only for a small period of time. To start finding my real self and my cause in life. The reason why I'm still here and haven't joined my colleague wherever he is now. Eversince, I'm simply missing the point and I don't want to be of a bother to anyone near me. I have lost already too much of them anyway. 

And I will return! I will return as if I have been resurrected. The great Phoenix. Or whatever it is. I WANT to come back. I WANT to meet myself in the dark ally of life! Will anyone EVER understand this?

No, they won't. How could they? I'm blamable and accountable. And I couldn't leave, since people are depending on me. I know that. I love them - all of them. But that's exactly the reason why I should resurrect. 

No matter what, I'm still here. Just being is also a form of life, and not a bad one in the end.

One year has passed since FD. How was it to relive this day? One thing I became aware of is that the nature of celebrating/remembering an event in the past on that same very day is truly symbolic only. It was no different day than any other day. There was no sudden darkness, no solar eclipse or thunderstorm just because this should be this very day. It was just a day like any other. But still, symbolism has some perceptive content, which makes you more aware of what happened that day, one year ago. 

I woke up as on any other day (no sleep till getting up), nothing special. But when finishing my breakfast, I started to feel uncomfortable and trapped inside a spinning mind - much more furious then before. So, indeed, it makes sense that we tend to treat those days the same way as we do with our birthdays. 

Melancholy and lethargy filled up my cup for the day. Did as much as possible to retract myself from bad thoughts, though I did know I was planning to go out to the cemetery to visit Roland's grave. My ex-colleague and her husband joined me and gave me a ride to what is the point of no return. I was terribly afraid, you never understand why, since being 38, the thought of ghosts coming to eat up your brains is quite unlikely. I was most probably just afraid of myself. What I would do. I just stood there, for what I felt was timeless, but should have been like 30 minutes. I felt true sadness. But what I felt most, was peace. Inner serenity. All of these therapy sessions did make a change. I am in peace with the only one who did not survive. All the conversations I had with my therapist about how there should be some utter goal why he's not with us anymore. Call it destiny. Fate. Whatever. But he had a quest - somewhere else. Therefore he left. Now I understood. 

His mother passed away a few years ago. She was only 49 at the time, and it came out of nowhere. I know, because Roland told a lot about this. He was profoundly sad whenever this topic came up, but also did he never refrain from telling. Was it a sign? He wanted to be with her. It was like there was nothing left for him out here. Certainly there is/was. But might be that those goals were inferior to the great goal. 

So, I stood there and understood. And understood that - thanks to one colleague who really helps me a lot in bad times - Roland would feel pissed off if he'd look at me. Suffering like a piece of crap, while I'm practically the only one who survived without a - physical - scratch. What he would not give to return to life and swap places with me. And all I do, is suffer in deep misery, not giving optimism its well-deserved place. I don't do this because I don't want this to happen of course. It's uncontrollable at this stage. Whatever I feel, it's not my purpose to do so. But yes, she's right! He would shout at me: "STOP WHINING!!! START LIVING! THE WORLD NEEDS YOU, YOU NEED THE WORLD, GO OUT THERE!"

A week ago there was a workshop at my workplace. People with severe handicaps came to show that you can still be a functional role in life even with the worst of handicaps. There were blinds, deaf/mute's, autistic, wheelchair-bounded. Also there was this one guy, who got my fuel attention. During birth he, suffered of oxygen-failure. As a result, none of his limbs are working. They work, but spastically. Uncontrollable.

So he started to explain his story, it was really difficult to follow whatever he said, since also his voice has suffered. But he directly contradicted the fact that he looks like a pile of crap, his words were full of wisdom, intelligence. All words, though spoken very slowly, made sense, and were of true meaning. 

He explained, that he is a system administrator. IT. So, I was perplex. How can someone with such disabilities do something so sophisticated? Well, he showed. Since he cannot use his hands, nor his legs, he writes - on a keyboard - with his nose. Huh? Yes, he does. And fluently, and without any error. Faster than most 'normal' people do.

Then he put up some device, which is nothing more than a pair of glasses with some kind of antenna-like thing on the front. He said that it's easier to use that typing, since otherwise his nose starts to hurt. It looked very clowny, but this guy showed off in a way which you can only believe when you actually see it. A genius. Truly. He showed some of his websites and even some games he developed - on his own. Amazing. 

Eversince, this guy gives me ultimate strength to push trough. He's a true hero. A survivor. Sure, as my beloved brother says, he's a hero in perspective. He can probably never build such amazing wooden structures as I do. But for me it's not about jealousy or envy. He's simply a symbol for carrying on.

Just as Roland shouts at me. Exactly. With the ones who sincerely love me.

It's kind of astonishing to see how I am able to cover myself and my sad story from the outside. Except for a few, really no one knows about what I'm facing and what spins in my mind. Great addition to this is that even I hide from it myself - day by day.

When first confronted with all the suffering I am going through I was profoundly confused. The only rational thought that came in was to just follow whatever my brains are telling me. This was my first mistake. Your brain is seemingly coordinated by whatever you like to call your soul (sixth sense, instinct, whatever). But when faced with a tragedy you are simply not big enough to comprehend, your brain loses contact with life as a whole. After not taking professional help too seriously, I have experimented with calming my emotions and inner-self with non-prescripted medication, such as alcohol and drugs. These elements add a positive boost into your brains, so you APPARENTLY feel comfortable. You sleep, do things, and not think about whatever happened or is still coming your way. Simply because you blocked it away. But these "medications" are only very short-lasting, and do only force you to take more and more. That's what false information from your brains deploy.

During my sessions at the psychologist, one thing I've learned rather quick is that my brain does simply two things: "Fight or flight" it's called. And it's no good. At all. My thoughts were and still are more on the flight-side, and severe negative ideas burst out of it. End your life, stop the circus as it is... 

So what you do, is eventually put a mask on your face, so no one sees what's burning inside you and makes you also act more or less like a normal person.

Seems rather good, no? Just acting as if nothing happened, no need for alcohol & drugs to do so. It's just a play, a big game we call life. Has it always been like that? As a matter of fact, yes. Infinitely, I'm of meaning that our soul, our inner-self is composed by all your acts and passions, thoughts together. It's something you're not born with.

When you're in survival mode, your mask shows the same strength you had before, it bears signs that everything's ok. You don't want to confront the ones you love always and forever with pain and misery. Think about two small kids; they don't want to see their papa crippling away. So you put up your mask, when you climb out of your bed. You go to your work, not a single person who notices. Yes, you seem quite exhausted, but nothing to look for behind it, there are two small kids at home, so it's natural to be tired.

What happens when your mask falls off? When you simply cannot handle the weight anymore? That's when hell starts. Faced with all of your unraveled mysteries, why, what, when and why, and WHY!? Why on earth did I survive? What's my destiny? How could it be that I was the lucky one to survive with a scratch, but now crippling from the inside? Dragging myself through hell each day? That very mask might solve a lot when wearing, but you cannot wear it all the time. Eventually, you put it off. At night, you start living through the whole thing again, seeing the disaster, you can taste it, smell it. Blood, steel. I can taste steel in my mouth as I write these very lines.

Today, I had to visit my psychiatrist again, to dope myself again, helping this relentless savage thoughts to become a bit more tame. We had this conversation (which always comes up again), that patience should be kept. Patience and time will solve, it's my salvation. Yes, but what is time when you experience hell each day? When your brain says: "get out of here, there is nothing good waiting, since I cannot comprehend at all". So, she cited a passage from letter of Job to the Romans, concerning the fact that suffering leads to patience... We've spoken about how all of the bible has logic and rational sense, but how can this major subject be so contradictory? 

Back to my mask. I love to put it on, it has become more or less a part of me, existing. I know, when not putting it on, I would hide away in a corner in a dark room, nagging on thoughts of how to cease all the torment. I know the end. That's why I love my mask, no matter how goddamn heavy it is.