Do not envy me

You pay the price for strength and it is toughness. It is it's own punishment and price, to be insensitive to hurt is to be insensitive to pleasure.

Potential is nothing, nothing without praxis and survival is not enough.

It is windy in germany and very very cold. I have not been outside the apartment for a long time and things are, uncertain. As always. Always. I tell myself over and over I cannot, will not do this again and yet I find myself and my faith again and again on the tightrope with this body in the balance. Who knows what it means. Sometimes I feel so sorry for myself, for what I've lost, and sometimes I would just like to find a cause worth dying for and apply myself to it so I can get on with it and die with a purpose. Am I a weapon or am I a boy. Shall I be a weapon or shall I be a boy?

Should I work to break out of what I have been made to be and seek myself again or accept what I am and have become and take pride in my strength? Or is that strength, an answer to the pain I've been through, just represent how that pain has crippled my ability to laugh, smile, and love? Is it my greatest strength and source of pride or my undoing and never-healing wound?

It's all in the balance, I don't know how to answer these things.