Rafael Bernal

“But my spirit was seeking an ever deeper solitude, and every time I suffered contact with civilization was unbearable torture. With each word they spoke to me, the past welled up again, filling my soul with a silent anxiety that clutched at my throat; and I longed to hurt, to kill, to inflict irreparable damage. But the absurd necessity of making a living forced me to deal with people, and now, as I remember those dealings, I loathe them more than ever. Whenever I made a little money, I did anything possible to forget, and I would drink to the point of falling facedown in the street, where nobody was compassionate enough to help me back to my feet. In the eyes of the world, I was a despicable boozehound, the object of brain-dead laughter, but I considered myself more the victim than the offender - if I was a drunk, it was the world's fault.”
― Rafael Bernal, His Name was Death