Guilt

I always have bad dreams. I’m uneasy in my soul. I wake up in the night.

 

The other night, I went into the bathroom and found myself just crying and crying. I was, shuddering. And trembling. Quite grotesque … Oh don’t feel sorry for me. I‘m not asking for you to feel sorry.

The troubles of a married woman, of an adulterer and cuckolder are as nothing, no doubt, to all the real suffering out there. And perhaps it’s not even suffering. Perhaps I just enjoy the drama …

The tears of an adulterer are self-inflicted, aren’t they? They’re self-pity. They’re just a desire for drama. No one could feel sorry for me. Not even you. You don’t feel sorry for me, do you?

 

I’d like to sleep the sleep of the just. Do you sleep easily? I can never sleep. There’s stuff on my mind. Or maybe it’s just on my mind because I can’t sleep. What comes first: the insomnia, or the thoughts you have when you can’t sleep?