Dear All,

After Albert died, Queen Victoria described what she painted as in, "The first year of my desolation.....the second year....", etc. 

Painting and writing, are an attempt at dealing with intense grief and anxiety when one feels horribly lost and in such intangible despair. Emotional pain can be much more devastating than physical. Often sleep is all that provides relief at times, so one can be tempted to spend an inordinate amount of time doing so, if the mind will allow it and not keep trying to solve the myriad of nagging questions, leaving the mind incessantly annoyed and busy in an attempt to find a morsel of rest when possible answers are found. It goes on and on as another callous word or deed is purposely slipped in to add another log to the cruel mental fire.  

There must be a special place in Hell for those who enjoy putting an innocent person in such torment and hoping their actions will push them over the edge of despair. They are sadistic, cowardly monsters who need to be studied to find out why they enjoy causing pain and without a spec of remorse. 

I know that one must reach deeply into every possible resource to maintain enough of a balance to avoid giving in and giving up, which can be a seductive and tantalizing choice when the ache becomes too great a fight to survive. 

I never knew that those cruel interlopers in my life could hand me such a difficult challenge, seriously meant to destroy me, where I was so exceptionally frightened that I might not withstand the sadistic dilemma. I had many horrifyingly rough patches, but I sincerely feel, from what I had to withstand, that I did an admirable job of it.  

I learned some forced lessons and had my point of view of life somewhat altered. I am bitter to some degree, but I also know that I don't want to waste any further moments of my precious Earthly time on those degenerates who are entirely unworthy of it. 

If he will desire to be my friend after all this time, then I will be one who is blessed.

No guarantees in life.

Cp