It’s Saturday morning. Finally, thank God! I was waiting for this moment all week. Work consumed all my energy and nerves this week. Yesterday evening I didn’t want to do anything at all. I even canceled my date with Sophie. Instead, I stayed at home and went to bed early. I woke up several times. I can’t sleep long lately. In one of my last dreams already in the morning, I threw a little kitten into a river from a bridge, because she was scratching me. I ran after her because she was drowning in the water. I went in for her, took her and brought her out. I tried to resuscitate her, but I couldn’t. She was dead or at least seemed dead, I wasn’t sure. It was a terrible feeling. Then I woke up with this dream vividly with me.
God can see my soul, I am fighting so hard day in and day out, to keep myself together, to live a healthy life, in the middle of elemental storms attacking from all directions.
I’ve read a book of a psychiatrist, who had a patient, a young woman. She was always complaining whining, although she had everything to be happy, to live a successful life. But instead, she was always blaming others for her misery and failures, and never did the things she sould have done. He asked her if she had ever seen a disabled child trying to draw. The woman didn’t understand the question. He explained it to her: the child grabs the pencil so strong that it almost breaks in half, his little eyes google, they want to fall off their places, his vein wants to blow up in his neck, his tongue lolls out of his mouth. He hasn’t got much from God, but he uses every little drop of what he has, in order to create something on that paper. He is fighting with all his parts. And what does the woman do? She got everything, but all she does is crying that nothing works for her. If one day this little child meets God, I can see, that he is told: “Good job, little boy, you really did everything you could.”