I suppose I might as well add my woes to the sad litany: Enough time has been spent trying to convince other people of my plight. They look at me, and all they can see is wasted abilities. It’s funny, they don’t question the evidence of the abilities, yet they refuse to accept the evidence of the damage that was done to me that caused those abilities to be wasted. How stupid can people be? If someone really had happiness within his grasp, who would not reach out and take it, unless there were some genuine obstacle? I was choked with other people’s broken dreams before I was old enough even to have dreams of my own. I suppose the world owed me nothing, not even a fair chance, a decent start in life. Fair enough. Obligations are dissolved all around. Mill says that obligations of perfect justice create duties which give rise to corresponding rights in assignable persons. So what if there are no obligations? I have tried to demonstrate other qualities beyond just those trivial ones that have come to be casually valued. I have tried to show my strength of character, my ability for self-sacrifice, my generosity, my ability to absorb suffering without turning that back on others, my endurance, in the hope that, when I did say that something was beyond my abilities, people would know that to be true. Either no one understood, or no one believed. I know one thing to be true and without doubt: This world values the appearance of propriety over substance and integrity. That fact is abhorrent and unacceptable to me as a rational being. It means that people are free to assemble bits and pieces of information into whatever story will justify their own purposes. And the more power people acquire, the more time and resources they have at their disposal to fabricate their twisted realities. And I would sacrifice my all before I ever allowed myself to become a willing participant in such a reprehensible reality. I have done a lot of things in my life that have been harmful to myself; on occasion I have trespassed against the possessions of others, but I have never allowed myself to use even the least of my abilities to directly harm another person. The notion is anathema to me. My definition of my self is my own and sacrosanct; consequently I must extend that same privilege to others. If I trespass against others, I destroy myself. Ultimately, we define ourselves by the freedom we ascribe to others. It is just like when you divvy up the last portion of pie. I cut the pie, you choose the piece. It is that simple. If you care, it is black-letter existentialism. Pretty simple, really. I guess there’s not much more to say. If there are any people who should wish to assemble in my memory all that I ask of them is that they listen to the song “Iris” by the Goo-Goo Dolls in my memory, and try to think how it represents what I tried to be and what I aspired to, and believe in me and remember me for a few short minutes. For myself, I never desired wealth, or fame, or adoration, only peace.