Everyone is “extremely nice”—and yet I feel entirely alone. (“Abandonitis”).

I have not a desire but a need for solitude.

Only I know what my road has been for the last year and a half: the economy of this motionless and anything but spectacular mourning that has kept me unceasingly separate by its demands; a separation that I have ultimately always projected to bring to a close by a book--Stubbornness, secrecy.

Everything pains me. The merest trifle rouses a sense of abandonment.I'm impatient with other people, their will to live, their universe. Attracted by a decision to withdraw from everyone [no longer bearing the world of Y].