I'm feeling how my inner agression is searching for channels to manifest itself. It is a suicidal agression, but I don't want to die. I have lost control over myself (if I ever had control) - I suffer too much. Everything I can do is watch the film of my life, a film which I am not directing. The promise of happiness comes from outside myself. Being alone is an illusion, I used to think. But you're alone when you die, that's the truth. You're alone with anxiety, but anxiety has nothing to do with any higher truth. Anxiety is the dissapearance of all context, also the context of interhuman connection, which means this connection is not essential. The promise of happiness comes from outside the solitude that is recognised in anxiety. Happiness is the responsibility of fate. Happiness is death like, it is being carried away by the waves. I took a risk and I have to live/die with the consequences of that risk. When people like me want to find the entrance to life, at the same time they have to prepare for death. i can not put aside the responsibility for others, but life as I knew it can never suffice anymore. I knew I was choosing for death, like a smoker. I allowed my heart to be overflooded by passion by fixating my erotic reservoirs on one person. I have been stupid. Even half a life is worth much more than gold. My enemies are now: pity and love. For the first time in my life I have to turn my heart into stone. I am going to do something horrible, I have no choice, I am too unhappy. The bucket is full. I give in to the torture. I hope there's no hell. I have to admire the courage of the living, but this pain is not for me. I feel pain at every moment. It is always there, for half a year now. Each time I thought I had reached the paroxysm life got worse. The tide did not turn. Things did not get better. I don't want to die, but fate is driving me into this. If happiness can not be an ambition of me, and if I don't want to allow my agressive instincts to determine my life, what can be the point of my life?