If some of the journal notes I have quoted seem ill-tempered, even misanthropic, this attitude should be understood as a kind of envy, which so often has a bitter aftertaste. In the wake of my devastating losses it was hard for me to accept that fate could be so unjust, that other people’s lives should remain unscarred by the kind of evil that had been visited upon me. The big question, “why?” was a ceaseless torment, as my brain struggled for meaning (Is this a punishment? A judgment? A curse?), and when I saw other people with their children, or with their lovers and mates, or even just
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