I have the answers within me, if I can only take the time to find them, and not to look for someone else to (..) provide the solution to an ultimately unknowable question.

I tell myself these things:
That there is no one on this big, wide planet who can understand the you-ness of you more than you.
That you should protect yourself by respecting that, but at the same time, not be overly defensive. That it is a waste of energy building walls against armies that do not yet exist.
That real strength comes from owning your vulnerability and expressing your emotions in a way that is true and calm and powerful.
That sometimes it can take a long time to know yourself - in my case, it took forty years - but that's OK. If it turns out you're complicated and not easily boxed in by shallow theories of what and who you are, then thank goodness for that. How much more interesting that is, how much more resonant than one-note simplicity. And I wonder, too, how else I could have got to know myself, if not through my intimate interactions with the world, through my relationships with others? We do not exist in a vacuum. We exist in rhythms and melodies that can be harmonious or jarring or syncopated, played in major or minor chords, but the music has to be heard to make an impact. Sound becomes sound by bouncing off other surfaces.

Of course, I still fuck up. But I'm getting better at not doing so.

//Elizabeth Day, 2019, How To Fail

tajā neilgajā laikā, ko šonakt spēju pagulēt, nomērdējot sāpošo kaklu ar tabletēm un elpojot caur muti, jo deguns ciet un pūšamais beidzies, es murgoju, ka kopā ar ģimeni bēgu no armijas vai kā līdzīga, kāds milzīgs vīrietis ir nozadzis manas sarkanās kedas, un pa radio (?) skan tādas dziesmas kā "es esmu jaunais komunists!", ko izpilda sākumskolas vecuma puisēns