I thought for a long time after I read The Reader recently. I thought of this thing called emptiness, loneliness, despair. I thought about how a human mind can work, much like Hanna, the main character. How you can be ashamed of something about yourself to such a extreme degree, that you can go to any length to hide it. You can implicate yourself into so much chaos, so much pain, in order to hide a secret so horrible to uncover. And than I thought about myself and realized that there must be no difference between Hanna and me at all. Like murder, like lies, like the overall concept of deception and sin, I am just like her. I am ashamed of my depression that I have hid it from everyone, I am so ashamed that I refuse to get help. I am ashamed of my past, the things I try not to think of, so they simply do not exist. I make my life into a circus. I create a whirlwind of darkness. I have literally created a split personality of myself. I have created the daughter that is to be ideal in every circumstance, and a woman, who in reality, is nothing but.

Perhaps the identification of a loser is something created in my own imagination, but it will persist no matter how much I fight through my own delusional mind. I regret every decision I have made, I look back and hate every milestone I have passed. I hate the way I was brought up, I hate the way I have become, and thus, like Hanna, I have begun to go to great lengths to hide whatever secret it is I have hated all along. I guess you can say I would rather live in darkness, because confronting pain means to confront yourself.