November 13 + 

Still thinking of suicide. It seems the only way out. This morning my Essay was returned by the Editor of ⸻. One by one I have been divested of all my most cherished illusions. Once my ambitions gave me the fuel with which to keep myself alive. One after another they have been foiled, and now I’ve nothing to burn. I am daily facing the fact that my ambitions have overtaxed my abilities and health. For years, my whole existence has rested on a false estimate of my own value, and my life been revolving around a foolish self-deception. But I know myself as I am at last⁠—and am not at all enamoured. The future has nothing for me. I am wearied of my life already. What is there for any of us to do but die? + 