“I must accept the punishment, all sentences have their terms. Their limits. Those limits are not negotiated -They are endured. Like beatings from an authority other than your Ten-year-old’s perception of Mom and Dad. The truth is that I must have something in my life which is not right – otherwise I’d have no reason to complain. And I need that reason, God, I need that reason. I need to feel useful somehow, cause I’ve got nothing else holding me together except the frustration with my life’s circumstances, my frightening scenarios, and my excessive and constant guilt – which brings forth nothing and only fosters self-loathing and deterioration. You may do something but it never clinches the shame that hangs over you and gnaws at your brain.

Guilt is the mysterious painful lining along the corner of your periphery; hanging itself, doing a balancing act on the razor’s edge. The clean side of everything you tried to keep fresh. Anything sterile will soon be eaten up. Even Hamlet’s mousetrap – it vomits before it unfolds…but neatly nestled within its unsavory corners: tiny pieces of me.”

“I must accept …

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