Let’s talk about loneliness. It is, after all, [redacted]’s birthday, two years since my debacle. I still love her, if you can call my mania love. But I don’t know what the point of this is. I suppose I miss the idea of being loved, of being important, in a unique way, to one person alone.

I don’t know why. I thought of my going to Disneyland by myself ere Memorial Day Weekend, realizing how lonely that is, how lonely Disneyland is, how I envy [redacted], and how much these things didn’t matter because I had just gone out to watch “Star Wars” with [redacted].

But I’m tired of hurting.

Still, we must slog through this. I suppose I’d rather die standing than lying in the marsh while I’m still healthy.

Ah. I miss feeling sorry for myself.

The scene is in motion. I pray I do not stumble on my lines or miss my cues. This, I fear, will be a delicate operation and I can’t afford to lose my nerve.

To the future, though I know not where to go.