What right have you to say so? You don’t know anything about me. I know all about me. I have studied all the elements and phases in my life for years and years. I do not imagine anything. I am even fool enough to shut my eyes to some things until, inevitably, I know I must meet them. I am racked with the passions of youth, and I am young in years. Beyond that I am mature—old. I am not a child in anything but my passions and my years. I feel and recognize everything thoroughly. I have not to imagine anything. My inner life is before my eyes.
There is something about me that no one can understand. Can there ever be any one to understand? Shall I not always walk my barren road alone?
This follows me incessantly. It is burning like a smouldering fire every hour of my life.
Oh, deep black Despair!
How I suffer, how I suffer—just in being alive.
I feel Infinite Grief.
Oh, Infinite Grief——
[March 2.]
OFTEN in the early morning I leave my bed and get me dressed and go out into the Gray Dawn. There is something about the Gray Dawn that makes me wish the world would stop, that the sun would never more come up over the edge, that my life would go on and on and rest in the Gray Dawn.