A late nightshortly after I turned nine, I woke up late one night with a great fear of starting twenty. I had woken up with a feeling like this many times before, but this time it was more intense for him. The silence of the night, the work of the furniture in the dark room, the sound of a train nearby, the thing so close, so hostile and used, that at that moment a deep disgust aroused against his soul. However, within the imagination. The most disgusting thing was my own existence. What was the meaning and purpose of revival with this burden of unhappiness? Have I kept going with this constant discussion? My continued extinction in that moment is on the way to becoming much stronger than my continuing.