I feel haunted by a terrifying desolation which I struggle fiercely to kill. I feel attacked by madness. I can't talk. I can't make things clear to myself. Communication haunts me, crucial, vital. I'm paralyzed. Hesitation tortures me. There is a misshape in me, my fear of clarification. If it is true that I have the flaw of being supersensitive, of being easily lacerated, it is also true that I have an unearthly prophecy about others feelings. What I feel dreadfully deeply always is the solitude of the other. I find only dashed hopes. I suddenly lose all sense of life. I cannot write or work. I feel absolute apathy, stillness. My faith seems ignorant, at least today. Maybe I can believe again tomorrow.
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Memoirs Of A Crying Darling
RandomShe always tried to write happy stories and think happy thoughts and to adumbrate the future that may or may not await her.
