Despite the horror, we survivors were endowed with a will to survive. Or instinct. Or maybe it was faith.

And sometimes when I feel that much emotion, something inside of me just snaps.

You don__ put pressure on me to be something I__ incapable of being. You accept me exactly how I am.

And when you love someone, seeing them sad also makes you sad.

Huge difference between being happy at will, and chasing euphoric moments as an escape. One doesn't cost a dime, the other will tax your soul.

Strange how reluctant I was to acknowledge that control of my fate lay beyond my own conscious will. Habit of a lifetime, I suppose.