Last time I spoke with another person was 14 months ago. And I don’t really suffer from social phobia or anything like that. I think I’ve become Human Cockroach. Kafka wrote about it but I used to think it was a joke or huge exaggeration. And sadly there is not even a trace of struggle here. I could really appreciate it, struggle equals life. Instead I’m trapped in airless wastelands. Why I’m still alive, when all hope is long gone, that’s truly a mystery to me.
Tag: