I am the only one responsible for my misfortune, and apologize to all those I held responsible for a present that I did not assume, being the source of my inability to face what depends only on me for to be happy, to have taken comfort in the habit of believing, to be unworthy and illegitimate, to the point of running away from those and what I really love. I am not trying to convince anyone, not even myself by this announcement, but tend to share my certainty of being imperfect, of recognizing perfection, the language of the suffering in the face of the uncontrollable, the functioning of a protection against the proof of existing, of accepting to feel life by the manifestation of what it is, a time to live, and the fear of its end. Pardon those to whom I leave in image, the one that I do not see of myself, by the blindness of my will to want to understand how to protect myself from what I do not know how to manage, my sincerity, to have understood her to be a burden and a problem responsible for all the cataclysms, to the point of erasing it from my behavior, to be able to take advantage of others and not see them disappear. I remained in an endless torture of believing to be illegitimate to be able to be understood and appreciated at my fair value, of being persuaded to be insufficient, to the point of masking my sensitivity of not knowing how to hold back those and what is close to my heart, without that -this. Powerless, then is the value that I gave myself, to refuse to believe that I could be worthy of recognizing, to exist with those holding me back, hugging me, kissing me, loving me. I faced life alone, refusing to be in touch with those wishing to share it with me, to see no link, but a priesthood justifying my most total dedication, to the forgetting of myself, or the destruction of the 'other. I sacrificed relationships, and especially those that really made me feel life, by the belief in my inability to be in the eyes of the other, what he expects of me, not to understand his reaction, that 'a reminder to my illegitimacy, only a real proof of existing in his eyes and his heart to grant me what is most precious by stopping for me, his time and his love. I was running away from the opportunity to be able to express myself sincerely of not really knowing what it is to be listened to and understood, to have been unfairly interpreted and translated, inconsiderate and non-existent, without understanding of my will to have devoted myself to protecting what it is most dear to me to escape him in his presence, to be convinced, to be unworthy of his worth. I was locked up by my own belief, my own faith, of not understanding of it being only an illegitimacy, a torture to be shortened, a current of air from which one locks oneself up and protects oneself as it manifests itself in the other, all the reasons to be brief and distant, to show of myself only the discomfort that the other brings to me to want to get closer. I spoke the language of flight, while gesticulating that of attention, caught between two fires, that of sincere interest and that of respectful politeness, I only found my place to suppress myself and die in silence from this link who however, wish me only the best intention. My comfort was then, to burn by the fire of the injustice which animated me, the sincere emotions which I received from forbidding myself to be, to draw the lesson from it to be false, when the abysses made gush in me, a real reason to be true, sincere, and worthy to defend and protect by my passion, the love that was judged from birth as irresponsible. Sorry. Pardon then to all those I love, for not being able to forgive myself for destroying what I lack, for taking so long to find it to see it go, by keeping you away from my sensitivity to be responsible for what can happen to you, to the point of disappearing, of not knowing how to understand yourself except through what I am trying to work, my own forgetting. I buried in the depths of myself what I fix in the void, without moving, outside the world, to no longer recognize what lives around me, to be in nothingness. To foresee the future of things by the unfair lesson learned from a situation that I convinced myself to be responsible for, to be the victim. To seek my responsibility in what does not depend on me, until I lose my mind to feel the desire to explain the reasons for my sufficiency, to feel connected to what is broken, to feel intensely the important hope of without return, to the translation of what I am by expressing what I recognize, a truth that justifies me. Sometimes we create memories to erase others. I tried to appease myself through persuasion, to convince myself to be responsible, to accept being able to carry everything that was not mine, as being a necessary goal to accept to protect others to know how to "hold the cut". A personal and automatic incrimination with the deep desire to quickly untie the peace of what defined the burden of a fault, an error, a prejudice, a lack or a disappearance, that I had to immediately bear, as a revelation, "it is mine" because "it can only be me". The immediate approval of a feeling of guilt to recognize being able to be the origin of a decision, of a reasoning, of a feeling, of an emotion. Until accepting being able to be the origin of all the possible responsibilities of emotions, reactions, instincts and reflexes, which I avoided recognizing, seeking to find. What we detect most important is seen in the actions that we undertake to see it. To stop a walk convinced by the support of being worthless, for the curiosity of being or not, the sensation of a cold current, or the impulse of a momentum at the recall of what the you can be for what is right next to you. Am I then totally responsible for myself, when what bases my perception is a basic language of emotions and reflexes, to the appreciation of original situations with certain instinctive decisions? The marks of an evolution intimately linked to the synthesis of what builds us, the languages ??and dialects that our senses appreciate and that our perception translates, by the experience of life to acquire a stability subject to a language structuring itself of values ??that we do not choose to think of, such as motherhood or materialism. To hold and retain the hope of a return, by the normality of a life inspired by a balance accepted by the example of a protection registering by no longer being in the lack. At the risk of starting a new fall into doubt by the call of a deeper awakening on oneself, certain openings are nourished by truths that one flushes out by learning to open up to difference, to open the heart of what animates the will to ritualize its behavior in the certainty of the habits, to discover the invisible of its movements, the responsibility to make return the forgiveness in oneself. The paths are equivalent, only time passes. Hope is an unconditional time and its gift, however unwanted, remains the greatest proof of love, of being the convention of a meaningful standard, the reality of a self freed of its fear of being at home. the other what it lacks, the reconnection of a circle forming only when they merge. What then to believe, if for fear of disappointing you for not being what you need, of an insufficiency to bring you what I do not yet know how to understand about you, and to give you all the reasons to live what m has led to act like this with you, is only the appearance of a search for those responsible, when I am brought to cross the pain of the unforgivable, of the irresponsibility of my love for you?