I Withdraw Myself Quotes

I placed my face so close to his that his features became indistict, and I began to lose myself in them. I stroked his hair, his skin, his brow, with my fingertips, tears sliding unchecked down my cheeks, my nose against his, and all the time he watched me silently, studying me intently as if he were storing each molecule of me away. He was already retreating withdrawing to somewhere I couldn't reach him. I kissed him, trying to bring him back. I kissed him and let my lips rest against his so that our breath mingled and the tears from my eyes became salt on his skin, and I told myself that, somewhere, tiny particles of him would become tiny particles of me, ingested, swallowed, alive perpetual. I wanted to press every bit of me against him. I wanted to will something into him. I wanted to give him every bit of life I felt and force him to life. I held him, Will Traynor ex-City whiz kid, ex-stunt diver, sportsman, traveller, lover. I held him close and said nothing, all the while telling him silently that he was loved. Oh, but he was loved.

From quite early on, I had this idea of compartmentalized identities - 'this is how you are when you are with your mum, and this is how you are when you are with your dad' - so it seemed like I could never absolutely be myself. And the image of myself as compromised and inconsistent made me want to withdraw from the world even further. I had a sense of formulating a paper-mache version of myself to send out in the world, while I sat controlling it remotely from some smug suburban barracks.

When I closed my eyes withdrawing myself from darkness I saw light glowing everywhere.

My throat tightened, but I held back the tears and reminded myself that withdrawing from a woman is no different than kicking a drug; you feel shaky and you want it, but eventually the need passes, and you feel restored.

I withdraw my consent from reality. I deny it my assistance. I dedicate myself to the temptations of escapism, and throw myself wholeheartedly into the endlessness of unreality.

I lay and cried, and began to feel again, to admit I was human, vulnerable, sensitive. I began to remember how it had been before; how there was that germ of positive creativeness. Character is fate; and damn, I'd better work on my character. I had been withdrawing into a retreat of numbness: it is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch one. But my honest self revolted at this, hated me for doing this. Sick with conflict, destructive negative emotions, frozen into disintegration I was, refusing to articulate, to spew forth these emotions - they festered in me, growing big, distorted, like pus-bloated sores. Small problems, mentions of someone else's felicity, evidence of someone else's talents, frightened me, making me react hollowly, fighting jealousy, envy, hate. Feeling myself fall apart, decay, rot, and the laurels wither and fall away, and my past sins and omissions strike me with full punishment and import. All this, all this foul, gangrenous, sludge ate away at my insides. Silent, insidious.

Of course, I'm not quite ready to forsake all the products of society, just yet. I have my clothes, my books, etc... But more and more I can see myself leaving much of the rest behind - leaving their makers, and the crucible from which they proceed. If at times, after all, I might benefit by the rays of the sun, must I seek also to reside in its nuclear core?

I’ve never seen an exploding helicopter. I’ve never seen anybody go and blow somebody’s head off. So why should I make films about them? But I have seen people destroy themselves in the smallest way, I’ve seen people withdraw, I’ve seen people hide behind political ideas, behind dope, behind the sexual revolution, behind fascism, behind hypocrisy, and I’ve myself done all these things. So I can understand them. What we are saying is so gentle. It’s gentleness. We have problems, terrible problems, but our problems are human problems.

I am miserable now—not feeling unhappiness, just lack of life coming to me and coming out of me—resignation to getting nothing and seeking nothing, staying behind shell. The glare of unknown love, human, unhad by me,—the tenderness I never had. I don’t want to be just a nothing, a sick blank, withdrawal into myself forever. I just want something, beside the emptiness I’ve carried around in me all my life.

The fear thou art in, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "prevents thee from seeing or hearing correctly, for one of the effects of fear is to derange the senses and make things appear different from what they are; if thou art in such fear, withdraw to one side and leave me to myself, for alone I suffice to bring victory to that side to which I shall give my aid;" and so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and putting the lance in rest, shot down the slope like a thunderbolt.

Drew doesn’t make me feel like myself. He makes me feel better than myself. As if there is a little broken part in me, rattling and loose, and whenever he’s near it falls into place and tightens. The thought has me withdrawing, sinking into that cold, thick place that chokes me. I’m beginning to need him too much.

I didn’t notice my lips had curled until his thumb moved, tracing the shape of that smile as if it was something worthy of reverence. “Are you going to kill me, Oraya?” I didn’t run. Didn’t move. Instead, I lay my palm flat against his chest. I surprised even myself when I replied, “Not tonight.” His hand slid from my face and swept a stray strand of black hair from my cheek, smoothing it to the side. But instead of withdrawing, his fingers tightened around my hair—clutching it, but not pulling, as if he was trying to convince himself to let me go and failing. “You might destroy me anyway.

My passionate interest in social justice and social responsibility has always stood in curious contrast to a marked lack of desire for direct association with men and women. I am a horse for single harness, not cut out for tandem or team work. I have never belonged wholeheartedly to country or state, to my circle of friends, or even to my own family. These ties have always been accompanied by a vague aloofness, and the wish to withdraw into myself increases with the years. Such isolation is sometimes bitter, but I do not regret being cut off from the understanding and sympathy of other men. I lose something by it, to be sure, but I am compensated for it in being rendered independent of the customs, opinions, and prejudices of others, and am not tempted to rest my peace of mind upon such shifting foundations.

I saw the folded note peeking up from behind the cover of the book in which I'd hidden it. I brushed my fingertips across the lineny surface, my skin sparking with electricity, my fingers itching to pull it free. I shoudn't, I told myself, even as I held my breath and watched myself withdrawing it from the book. I tried to tamp down the feeling of anticipation coursing through me at the same time I argued that it was a mistake to look at it again. It didn't deserve anymore of my time. He didn't deserve the space he already occupied in my mind. I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed me there, tucked beneath my desk, reading a note that I'd already memorized. No one paid me any attention. I held the letter, vividly picturing the six words written inside the folds. Six words that I already knew by heart. Six words that meant more to me than they should. I unfolded the top third of the paper, then the bottom, purposely keeping my eyes unfocused for just a moment. My heart stopped. And then my eyesight cleared. I pledge to keep you safe.

Rune was showing me to whom I belonged. He was giving me no other choice but to submit to him, to give myself back to him after withdrawing for too many years. Rune’s

I cannot withdraw into myself. I exist, outside myself and everywhere in the world. There is not an inch of my path which does not encroach on the path of another: there is no way of being that can prevent me from overflowing myself at every moment. This life that I weave with my own substance, it offers other men a thousand unknown faces, it crosses impetuously their fate.

How shall I help myself? By withdrawing into the garret, and associating with spiders and mice, determining to meet myself face to face sooner or later. Completely silent and attentive I will be this hour, and the next, and forever.

I imagine the corruption of myself running through her tracts, into her veins and recesses. I long to withdraw my sting from her innocent body.

Staring out to sea, I finally forced myself to stop thinking of her as someone still somewhere, if only in memory, still obscurely alive, breathing, doing, moving, but as a shovelful of ashes already scattered; as a broken link, a biological dead end, an eternal withdrawal from reality, a once complex object that now dwindled, dwindled, left nothing behind except a l like a fallen speck of soot on a blank sheet of paper.

.. when all this started, I asked myself, 'Am I going to withdraw from the world, like most people do, or am I going to live?' I decided I'm going to live - or at least try to live - the way I want, with dignity, with courage, with humour, with composure.

We Are Lovable Even if the most important person in your world rejects you, you are still real, and you are still okay. —Codependent No More Do you ever find yourself thinking: How could anyone possibly love me? For many of us, this is a deeply ingrained belief that can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Thinking we are unlovable can sabotage our relationships with co-workers, friends, family members, and other loved ones. This belief can cause us to choose, or stay in, relationships that are less than we deserve because we don’t believe we deserve better. We may become desperate and cling as if a particular person was our last chance at love. We may become defensive and push people away. We may withdraw or constantly overreact. While growing up, many of us did not receive the unconditional love we deserved. Many of us were abandoned or neglected by important people in our life. We may have concluded that the reason we weren’t loved was because we were unlovable. Blaming ourselves is an understandable reaction, but an inappropriate one. If others couldn’t love us, or love us in ways that worked, that’s not our fault. In recovery, we’re learning to separate ourselves from the behavior of others. And we’re learning to take responsibility for our healing, regardless of the people around us. Just as we may have believed that we’re unlovable, we can become skilled at practicing the belief that we are lovable. This new belief will improve the quality of our relationships. It will improve our most important relationship: our relationship with our self. We will be able to let others love us and become open to the love and friendship we deserve. Today, help me be aware of and release any self-defeating beliefs I have about being unlovable. Help me begin, today, to tell myself that I am lovable. Help me practice this belief until it gets into my core and manifests itself in my relationships.

Miss Dearheart gave him a very brief look, and shook her head. There was movement under the table, a small fleshy kind of noise and the drunk suddenly bent forward, colour draining from his face. Probably only he and Moist heard Miss Dearheart purr: ‘What is sticking in your foot is a Mitzy “Pretty Lucretia” four-inch heel, the most dangerous footwear in the world. Considered as pounds per square inch, it’s like being trodden on by a very pointy elephant. Now, I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking, “Could she press it all the way through to the floor?” And, you know, I’m not sure about that myself. The sole of your boot might give me a bit of trouble, but nothing else will. But that’s not the worrying part. The worrying part is that I was forced practically at knifepoint to take ballet lessons as a child, which means I can kick like a mule; you are sitting in front of me; and I have another shoe . Good, I can see you have worked that out. I’m going to withdraw the heel now.’ There was a small ‘pop’ from under the table. With great care the man stood up, turned and, without a backward glance, lurched unsteadily away. ‘Can I bother you?’ said Moist. Miss Dearheart nodded, and he sat down, with his legs crossed. ‘He was only a drunk,’ he ventured. ‘Yes, men say that sort of thing,’ said Miss Dearheart.

All things carefully considered, I believe they come down to this: what scares me is the Church as a social thing. Not solely because of her stains, but by the very fact that it is, among other characteristics, a social thing. Not that I am by temperament very individualistic. I fear for the opposite reason. I have in myself a strongly gregarious spirit. I am by natural disposition extremely easily influenced in excess, and especially by collective things. I know that if in this moment I had before me twenty German youth singing Nazi songs in chorus, part of my soul would immediately become Nazi. It is a very great weakness of mine. . . . I am afraid of the patriotism of the Church that exists in the Catholic culture. I mean ‘patriotism’ in the sense of sentiment analogous to an earthly homeland. I am afraid because I fear contracting its contagion. Not that the Church appears unworthy of inspiring such sentiment, but because I don’t want any sentiment of this kind for myself. The word ‘want’ is not accurate. I know— I sense with certainty— that such sentiment of this type, whatever its object might be, would be disastrous in me. Some saints approved the Crusades and the Inquisition. I cannot help but think they were wrong. I cannot withdraw from the light of conscience. If I think I see more clearly than they do on this point— I who am so far below them— I must allow that on this point they must have been blinded by something very powerful. That something is the Church as a social thing. If this social thing did such evil to them, what evil might it not also do to me, one who is particularly vulnerable to social influences, and who is infinitely feebler than they?

perhaps that’s what it’s for – self-confidence and courage and energy and peace – perhaps it’s to be used in the world. Perhaps there’s only one thing to do with it: spend it. I’m always super-conscious of how whenever I go out into the world, whenever I get involved in a relationship, my idea of who I think I am utterly collides with the reality of who I actually am. And I continue to go out even though who I am always comes up short. I always prove myself to be less generous, less charming, less considerate, not as bold or energetic or intelligent or courageous as I imagined in my solitude. And I’m always being insulted, or snubbed, or disappointed. And I’m never in my pyjamas. And yet, in some way, maybe this is better. Each of us in this room could suffer the pangs of withdrawal and gain the serenity of the non-smoker. We could be demi-gods in our little castles, all alone, but perhaps, at heart, none of us here wants that. Maybe the only cure for self-confidence and courage is humility. Maybe we go out in order to fall short... because we want to learn how to be good at being people... and moreover, because we want to be people.

Sometimes when I need to comfort myself (all the time) I think about your lisp and it creates a wombskin around my brain full of barbituratesque nectar, the side effects of which include a horny surge in my second chakra and pussy, and then severe withdrawal: a love story.

How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face? Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful. Much, much more painful than the others.

During this week, Ragan has experience a bit of insecurity with me, the result of my being quieter than usual, which he interprets as being a withdrawal from him. “No,” I countered, “it is a withdrawal into myself.” I do not think the same need exists in him. Quiet can be the two of us reading silently. But he prefers that I be nearby. I need regular time without anybody else around in order to feel restored.

If there is anything I regret then it is that period when I allowed mystical and theological profundities to mislead me into withdrawing too much into myself. …..When you wake up in the morning and find you are not alone but can see a fellow creature there in the half-light, it makes the world look so much more welcoming. Much ,more welcoming than the devotional journals and whitewashed church walls beloved of clergymen.

I would put myself in the attitude to look in the eye an abstract truth, and I cannot. I blench and withdraw on this side and on that. I seem to know what he meant who said, No man can see God face to face and live.

I felt enough of the effect of withdrawing from the world then, to see that it led to an antisocial and misanthropic state of mind, which severely punished him who gives in to it. And it will be a lesson I never shall forget as to myself.

I can rather effectively protect myself from failure by crafting genuinely convincing rationales that justify my unwillingness to try. But I might consider the fact that an action such as this is the real failure. And there’s no protection in that.

If she wants Marcello Solara, I will resign myself. I love her so much that if she's happy with someone else I will withdraw and between us everything will remain as it is now. But if she wants me--if she wants me--there's no help for it, you must give her to me.

Ted," he said, "when all this started, I asked myself, 'Am I going to withdraw from the world, like most people do, or am I going to live?" I decided I'm going to live-or at least try to live-the way I want, with dignity, with courage, with humor, with composure.

You know... or maybe you don't know... I don't know how to write this-but never mind: Now you know that there will never be a day for me, or a morning, or a springtime, without you. Because for me R is nothing more than... but you don't care about this. At any rate, I'm very grateful to him. I don't know what I would have done, alone, without him, these last few days. During these days and nights I've lived through ten or maybe twenty years. My room has seemed round and not square, and endless, round and round and all the same, with no doors anywhere. I can't live without you-because I love you. because I see. I understand, that you don't need anybody, anybody on earth, except her, that other one, and... look, that's just it, if I love you, then I have to... I just need two or three more days to try and put the pieces of myself back into some semblance of the former O-90-and then I'll go and fill our the form myself, that I'm withdrawing my registration for you, and you'll be better off, you'll be fine. I'll never come again. Goodbye. O.

Charlus takes the narrator's chin and slides his magnetized fingers up to the ears "like a barber's fingers." This trivial gesture, which I begin, is continued by another part of myself; without anything interrupting it physically, it branches off, shifts from a simple function to a dazzling meaning, that of the demand for love. Meaning (destiny) electrifies my hand: I am about to tear open the other's opaque body, oblige the other (whether there is a response, a withdrawal, or mere acceptance) to enter into the interplay of meaning: I am about to make the other speak. In the lover's realm, there is no acting out: no propulsion, perhaps even no pleasure -- nothing but signs, a frenzied activity of language: to institute, on each furtive occasion, the system (the paradigm) of demand and response.

Like a kind of melancholy mirage, the other withdraws into infinity and I wear myself out trying to get there.

I was taught growing up not to be unequally yoked with unbelievers, to withdraw myself from the sinful 'others'. But we are all others. We are all sinners in someone's eyes.

Everyone has to start somewhere,' he says, his eyes dark and smoldering, his fingers seeking the scar on my face. The one on my forehead. The one that's hidden under my bangs. The one he has no way of knowing about. 'Even Picasso had a teacher.' He smiles, withdrawing his hand and the warmth that came with it, returning to his painting, as I remind myself to breathe.

I have to determine for myself, and not for other men. I don’t blame them, or think I am better than they; their circumstances are different. I would never choose to withdraw myself from the labour and common burden of the world; but I do choose to withdraw myself from the push and the scramble for money and position. Any man is at liberty to call me a fool, and say that mankind are benefited by the push and the scramble in the long-run. But I care for the people who live now and will not be living when the long-run comes. As it is, I prefer going shares with the unlucky.

In the last week I felt her withdrawing. What was once everywhere, an ocean I imagined myself to be drowning in, was now barely deep enough to bathe in. I saw her warmth draining away and I couldn't stop it.

My lady?” He peered briefly around to see that all seemed in order, and confusion immediately covered his face. “Take a dozen men and ride out in search of my husband,” Emma commanded at once. The steward goggled at her. “But, my lady—” “Now, Sebert. Or all will be lost.” Sebert nodded and started to withdraw, then paused and turned back, his gaze moving helplessly to the two men by the fireplace, before flying back to Emma herself. “But my lady, yer husband is dead,” he pointed out miserably. Emma rolled her eyes at that. “Sebert, why can you not be like other stewards and listen at doors?” “I…” Sebert drew himself up indignantly, but Emma continued. “Had you done so, you would be aware that I am to marry Lord Amaury de Aneford. Immediately. Before Lord Fulk’s cousin and aunt can get here and Bertrand can lay claim to the manor and myself.

I do like my life. I flail for meaning sometimes, maybe too often, but it is a full life, and a life I own. I have learned this of myself, that I cannot do without people and I cannot do without stretches of sustained isolation. To be alone is not always to be lonely. Sometimes I withdraw for weeks merely to be with myself, and I sink into reading, my life’s great pleasure, and I think, and I enjoy the silence of my own musing.

Nature’s ultimate goal is to foster the growth of the individual from absolute dependence to independence — or, more exactly, to the interdependence of mature adults living in community. Development is a process of moving from complete external regulation to self-regulation, as far as our genetic programming allows. Well-self-regulated people are the most capable of interacting fruitfully with others in a community and of nurturing children who will also grow into self-regulated adults. Anything that interferes with that natural agenda threatens the organism’s chances for long-term survival. Almost from the beginning of life we see a tension between the complementary needs for security and for autonomy. Development requires a gradual and ageappropriate shift from security needs toward the drive for autonomy, from attachment to individuation. Neither is ever completely lost, and neither is meant to predominate at the expense of the other. With an increased capacity for self-regulation in adulthood comes also a heightened need for autonomy — for the freedom to make genuine choices. Whatever undermines autonomy will be experienced as a source of stress. Stress is magnified whenever the power to respond effectively to the social or physical environment is lacking or when the tested animal or human being feels helpless, without meaningful choices — in other words, when autonomy is undermined. Autonomy, however, needs to be exercised in a way that does not disrupt the social relationships on which survival also depends, whether with emotional intimates or with important others—employers, fellow workers, social authority figures. The less the emotional capacity for self-regulation develops during infancy and childhood, the more the adult depends on relationships to maintain homeostasis. The greater the dependence, the greater the threat when those relationships are lost or become insecure. Thus, the vulnerability to subjective and physiological stress will be proportionate to the degree of emotional dependence. To minimize the stress from threatened relationships, a person may give up some part of his autonomy. However, this is not a formula for health, since the loss of autonomy is itself a cause of stress. The surrender of autonomy raises the stress level, even if on the surface it appears to be necessary for the sake of “security” in a relationship, and even if we subjectively feel relief when we gain “security” in this manner. If I chronically repress my emotional needs in order to make myself “acceptable” to other people, I increase my risks of having to pay the price in the form of illness. The other way of protecting oneself from the stress of threatened relationships is emotional shutdown. To feel safe, the vulnerable person withdraws from others and closes against intimacy. This coping style may avoid anxiety and block the subjective experience of stress but not the physiology of it. Emotional intimacy is a psychological and biological necessity. Those who build walls against intimacy are not self-regulated, just emotionally frozen. Their stress from having unmet needs will be high.

I withdraw into myself, and discover a world, albeit a notional world of dark desire rather than one of actuality and vital strength. And everything swims before my senses, and I go my way in the world wearing the smile of the dreamer.

Mine is an odd destiny. Perhaps no man in the U[nited] States has sacrificed or done more for the present Constitution than myself. And contrary to all my anticipations of its fate, as you know from the very beginning, I am still labouring to prop the frail and worthless fabric. Yet I have the murmur of its friends no less than the curses of its foes for my rewards. What can I do better than withdraw from the scene? Every day proves to me more and more that this American world was not made for me.

when all this started, I asked myself, 'Am I going to withdraw from the world, like most people do, or am I going to live?' I decided I'm going to live---or at least try to live---the way I want, with dignity, with courage, with humor, with composure.

If I had the luxury of an entire week, I would spend it meditating and reading, refreshing myself spiritually and intellectually. . . . Amidst the struggle, amidst the frustrations, amidst the endless work, I often reflect that I am forever giving—never pausing to take in. I feel urgently the need for even an hour of time to get away, to withdraw, to refuel. I need more time to think through what is being done, to take time out from the mechanics of the movement, to reflect on the meaning of the movement.

I don't want to be telling this story. I don't have to tell it. I don't have to tell anything, to myself or to anyone else. I could just sit here, peacefully. I could withdraw. It's possible to go so far in, so far down and back, they could never get you out.

My bad mood returns like an unwanted rash. “I got in a fight with Logan. And that’s all I’m saying on the subject, because if I talk about it right now, it’ll just piss me off again and then I’ll be too distracted to produce Dumb and Dumber’s show.” We both glance at the main booth, where Evelyn is using the reflection on her water glass to check her makeup, dabbing delicately at her eye shadow. Pace is engrossed with his phone, his chair tipped back so far that I predict a very loud disaster in the near future. “God, I love them,” Daisy says with a snicker. “I don’t think I’ve ever met two more self-absorbed people.” Morris saunters out of the booth and wanders over to us. He notices Daisy’s shirt and says, “Sweetheart, we’re at work. Show some decorum.” “Says the guy who ripped this shirt off me in the supply closet.” Rolling her eyes, she takes a step away. “I’m going to make myself presentable in the bathroom. I’d do it out here, but I’m scared Dumber might take a picture and post it on a porn site.” “Wait, the names Dumb and Dumber actually correspond to each of them?” Morris says in surprise. “I thought it was more of a general thing. Which one is Dumber?” The second the question leaves his mouth, a muffled crash reverberates from the booth, and we all turn to see Pace tangled up on the floor. Yup, the guy who spent an hour regaling me about his cow-tipping days back in Iowa? Tipped himself right over. From behind the glass, Pace bounces to his feet, notices us staring, and mouths the words, “I’m okay!” Morris sighs. “I withdraw the question

I don't want to be telling this story.   I don't have to tell it. I don't have to tell anything, to myself or to anyone else. I could just sit here, peacefully. I could withdraw. It's possible to go so far in, so far down and back, they could never get you out. Nolite

With every day that passes my reality becomes less valuable. It’s loud, disordered, unpredictable and arduous. Reality – what can it do? Make you hungry, thirsty, dissatisfied. It causes pain, strikes you down with disease, obeys laughable laws. But above all it is finite. It always leads to death. It is other things that count, that are powerful: ideas, passions, even madness. Everything that elevates itself above reason. I withdraw my consent from reality. I deny it my assistance. I dedicate myself to the temptations of escapism, and throw myself wholeheartedly into the endlessness of unreality.

She seems to be resuscitating me from far away as soon as I start to weaken. I close my eyes and see myself fleeing from the bed to the mattress on the floor, and from there to the couch, and the rug, and Melanie following me sleepily from one place to the next. I shout that I can’t fall asleep within the magnetic field of another body, and she mumbles, half asleep, “Come on, try a little longer.” And so for a few bleary-eyes, sleepwalking weeks—and as if having no knowledge of it the next morning—she gave me the nocturnal portion of a withdrawal treatment from the loneliness: one night we spent a whole hour together, the next night two hours, then a week of regression and crisis as I tried to adapt to the horrific idea of a shared blanket. Until suddenly, out of utter exhaustion, I discovered that our bodies had already reached an agreement—even mine, the illiterate one, must have caught on, because one night I woke up from a deep sleep and realized how beautifully we turned over together in bed, embraced.

But when I was a prostitute I protected myself, fought back at every moment, was never off guard. To protect my deeper, inner self from men, I offered them only an outer shell. I kept my heart and soul, and let my body plat its role, its passive, inert, unfeeling role. I learnt to resist by being passive, to keep myself whole by offering nothing, to live by withdrawing to a world of my own. In other words, I was telling the man he could have my body, he could have a dead body, but he would never be able to make me react, or tremble, or feel either pleasure or pain. I made no effort, expended no energy, gave no affection, provided no thought. I was therefore never tired or exhausted.

The Heiligenstadt Testament" Oh! ye who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and misanthropical, how unjust you are, and how little you know the secret cause of what appears thus to you! My heart and mind were ever from childhood prone to the most tender feelings of affection, and I was always disposed to accomplish something great. But you must remember that six years ago I was attacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by unskillful physicians, deluded from year to year, too, by the hope of relief, and at length forced to the conviction of a lasting affliction (the cure of which may go on for years, and perhaps after all prove impracticable). Born with a passionate and excitable temperament, keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in life to isolate myself, and to pass my existence in solitude. If I at any time resolved to surmount all this, oh! how cruelly was I again repelled by the experience, sadder than ever, of my defective hearing! — and yet I found it impossible to say to others: Speak louder; shout! for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim the deficiency of a sense which ought to have been more perfect with me than with other men, — a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, to an extent, indeed, that few of my profession ever enjoyed! Alas, I cannot do this! Forgive me therefore when you see me withdraw from you with whom I would so gladly mingle. My misfortune is doubly severe from causing me to be misunderstood. No longer can I enjoy recreation in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual outpourings of thought. Completely isolated, I only enter society when compelled to do so. I must live like art exile. In company I am assailed by the most painful apprehensions, from the dread of being exposed to the risk of my condition being observed. It was the same during the last six months I spent in the country. My intelligent physician recommended me to spare my hearing as much as possible, which was quite in accordance with my present disposition, though sometimes, tempted by my natural inclination for society, I allowed myself to be beguiled into it. But what humiliation when any one beside me heard a flute in the far distance, while I heard nothing, or when others heard a shepherd singing, and I still heard nothing! Such things brought me to the verge of desperation, and well-nigh caused me to put an end to my life. Art! art alone deterred me. Ah! how could I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I felt it was my vocation to produce? And thus I spared this miserable life — so utterly miserable that any sudden change may reduce me at any moment from my best condition into the worst. It is decreed that I must now choose Patience for my guide! This I have done. I hope the resolve will not fail me, steadfastly to persevere till it may please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread of my life. Perhaps I may get better, perhaps not. I am prepared for either. Constrained to become a philosopher in my twenty-eighth year! This is no slight trial, and more severe on an artist than on any one else. God looks into my heart, He searches it, and knows that love for man and feelings of benevolence have their abode there! Oh! ye who may one day read this, think that you have done me injustice, and let any one similarly afflicted be consoled, by finding one like himself, who, in defiance of all the obstacles of Nature, has done all in his power to be included in the ranks of estimable artists and men. My brothers Carl and [Johann], as soon as I am no more, if Professor Schmidt be still alive, beg him in my name to describe my malady, and to add these pages to the analysis of my disease, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be reconciled to me after my death. I also hereby declare you both heirs of my small fortune (if so it may be called). Share it fairly, agree together and assist each other. You know that any

A Day Away We often think that our affairs, great or small, must be tended continuously and in detail, or our world will disintegrate, and we will lose our places in the universe. That is not true, or if it is true, then our situations were so temporary that they would have collapsed anyway. Once a year or so I give myself a day away. On the eve of my day of absence, I begin to unwrap the bonds which hold me in harness. I inform housemates, my family and close friends that I will not be reachable for twenty-four hours; then I disengage the telephone. I turn the radio dial to an all-music station, preferably one which plays the soothing golden oldies. I sit for at least an hour in a very hot tub; then I lay out my clothes in preparation for my morning escape, and knowing that nothing will disturb me, I sleep the sleep of the just. On the morning I wake naturally, for I will have set no clock, nor informed my body timepiece when it should alarm. I dress in comfortable shoes and casual clothes and leave my house going no place. If I am living in a city, I wander streets, window-shop, or gaze at buildings. I enter and leave public parks, libraries, the lobbies of skyscrapers, and movie houses. I stay in no place for very long. On the getaway day I try for amnesia. I do not want to know my name, where I live, or how many dire responsibilities rest on my shoulders. I detest encountering even the closest friend, for then I am reminded of who I am, and the circumstances of my life, which I want to forget for a while. Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, lovers, family, employers, and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence. Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops. If we step away for a time, we are not, as many may think and some will accuse, being irresponsible, but rather we are preparing ourselves to more ably perform our duties and discharge our obligations. When I return home, I am always surprised to find some questions I sought to evade had been answered and some entanglements I had hoped to flee had become unraveled in my absence. A day away acts as a spring tonic. It can dispel rancor, transform indecision, and renew the spirit.

Without you what shall I do with my abiding love of genius, in whose name I have at least been able to attempt a few acknowledgments here and there? I flatter myself I know where genius is, almost what it consists of, and I held it capable of conciliating all the other great passions with itself. I believe blindly in your genius. Reluctantly, sadly, I withdraw this word, if it shocks you. But in that case, I prefer to banish it altogether. Genius ... what could I still expect from the few possible intercessors who have appeared to me under this sign, and which, at your side, I have ceased to possess! Without doing it on purpose, you have taken the place of forms most familiar to me, as well as several figures of my foreboding. All I know is that this substitution of persons stops with you, because [and this is my favorite part!] nothing can be substituted for you, and because for me it was for all eternity that this succession of terrible or charming enigmas was to come to an end at your feet. You are not an enigma for me. I say that you have turned me from engimas forever. Since you exist, as you alone know how to exist ..

Have mercy on me, O Lady: for thou art called the Mother of Mercy. And according to thy mercy: cleanse me from all my iniquities. Pour forth thy grace upon me: and withdraw not from me thine accustomed clemency. For I will confess my sins to thee: and I will accuse myself of all my crimes before thee. Reconcile me to the Fruit of thy womb: and make peace for me with Him who has created me.

I would be unfair to myself if I said I did not try. I did, even if desultorily. But desire is a curious thing. If it does not exist it does not exist and there is nothing you can do to conjure it up. Worse still, as I discovered, when desire begins to sink, like a capsizing ship it takes down a lot with it.   In our case it took down the conversation, the laughter, the sharing, the concern, the dreams and nearly - the most important thing, the most important thing - and nearly the affection too. Soon my sinking desire had taken everything else down with it to the floor of the sea, and only affection remained like the bobbing hand of a drowning man, poised perilously between life and death.   More than once she tried to seize the moment and open up the issue. She did it with a hard face and a soft face; she did it when I was idling on the terrace and when I was in the thick of my works; first thing in the morning and last thing at night.   We need to talk. Yes. Do you want to talk? Sure. What's happening? I don't know. Is there someone else? No. Is it something I did? Oh no. Then what the hell's happening? I don't know. Is there anything you want to talk to me about? I don't know. What do you mean you don't know? I don't know. What do you mean you don't know? I don't know. That's what I mean - I don't know. Toc toc toc.   All the while I tried to save that bobbing hand - of affection - from vanishing. I felt somehow that if it drowned there would not be a single pointer on the wide stormy surface to show me where our great love had once stood. That bobbing hand of affection was a marker, a buoy, holding out the hope that one day we could salvage the sunken ship. If it drowned, our coordinates would be completely lost and we would not know where to even begin looking.   Even in my weird state, it was an image of such desolation that it made my heart lurch wildly.   ***   For a long time, with her immense pride in herself - in us - she did not turn to anyone for help. Not friends, not family. For simply too long she imagined this was a passing phase, but then, as the weeks rolled by, through slow accretion the awful truth began to settle on her. By then she had run through all the plays of a relationship: withdrawal, sulking, anger, seduction, inquisition, affection, threat.   Logic, love, lust. Now the epitaph was beginning to creep up on her. Acceptance. 

I withdraw and shut the closet door with more force than I mean to. I feel that awful, snakelike squeeze around my chest again. I fight against my body, pressurizing my tears. This is going to happen, I tell myself. You’ll hear a song from The Sound of Music, or smell someone’s Chanel perfume on the bus. Someone will say something that isn’t exactly a thing she’d say but your brain will bridge the gap and whisk you back in time. This is going to happen.

Life is very tricky and we must deal with it as it is. If we do not first master it ourselves we cannot help anyone else. In the seclusion of concentrated thought lies hidden the factory of all accomplishment. Remember that. In this factory continuously weave your will pattern for attaining success over opposing difficulties. Exercise your will continuously. During the day and at night you have many opportunities to work in this factory, if you do not waste your time. At night I withdraw from the world’s demands and am by myself, an absolute stranger to the world; it is a blank. Alone with my will power, I turn my thoughts in the desired direction until I have determined in my mind exactly what I wish to do and how to do it. Then I harness my will to the right activities and it creates success. In this way I have effectively used my will power many times. But it won’t work unless the application of will power is continuous.

There are times when we cannot function and we need to withdraw and regroup. There are situations that we know we cannot handle. In spite of all the pushing and urging of friends and family who insist that we will have a wonderful time, the patient senses that it will lead to his mental devastation. If I do not listen to my body and withdraw from the overstimulation, it takes several days for my intellectual abilities to return. This is very frightening because I can’t help wondering each time this happens if I’ve pushed myself totally over the line of no return.

Life is a tiring business indeed. Soy sauce runs out. Milk runs out. Dishwashing detergent runs out. Lancôme lipsticks—I thought I had stockpiled several years' worth—run out. Dust underneath the dining table becomes dust balls. Newspapers and magazines pile up, and so does laundry. E-mail and junk mail keep coming. When occasion demands, I make myself presentable and I present myself. I listen to my sister's same old complaints on the phone. I withdraw money for my elderly mother, whose tongue works fine but whose body is a mess. I contact her caseworker. And now I have reached a stage in life when my own health is prone to betray me.

TO MY BELOVED, Its neither a piece of paper nor a letter, rather it's my small heart which I'm gifting it to you darling.It seems time stood still without ur presence around me. My days and nights have gone worthless. All my heart could do is to recall the memories of time which we have spend together. My heart gets rejoiced whenever your beautiful face comes before my eyes. Your mesmerizing eyes drive me to another world. Your flowing hair looks tantalizing and your rosy lips seems to be meant only for saying lovely words. While having a cup of coffee yesterday, numerous moments striked my heart. Our first meeting, when you were looking like a fairy in white salwar-suit. Still fresh in my mind, your pretty smile and bowing your head down to laugh with your hand on your lips. I confess that your every action was stealing my heart and I couldn't withdraw myself from lookig you. The gift you presented me on my birthday gives me a sigh of relief that you are always there with me. Sweetheart, In the classroom, I cracked useless jokes and PJ's just to see your charming smile. Kept gazing your lips, just to heat some golden words. You had stolen my heart. Dedicated '' I don't know when and how you arrived in my life, Don't know when my heart star beating for you, day n night.... My eyes kept staring the window pane, Wishing one day u'll come in my lane.... Darling you're the only one whom I admire, It's you whom my heart desperately desires... Being with you is my only need, You are now the medicine of my heartbeat... I Craved your name on my heart, The day when I decided not to loose you ever, And I promise you sweetheart that, I love you & i'll love you for ever, ever n ever...... It's true my baby that, i love you like anything. Miss you from very morning 2 the night. MY senses are active to feel you, to hear you, to see you, to taste every sorrow and happiness of your life. Jaana, get embedded in me, in my soul so that i can live with you, for you........ Dying to have your reply..... Truly Your's PK

Hey!” I bark, as loud as I can, and bring my arms above my head, trying to make myself look as large as possible. “Hey! Get out of here! Go on. Go.” The bear withdraws another inch, confused, startled. “I said go.” I reach out and strike against the nearest tree with my foot, sending a spray of bark in the bear’s direction. As the bear still hesitates, uncertain—but not growling now, on the defensive, confused—I drop down into a crouch and scoop up the first rock I can get my fist around, and then I’m up and chucking it, hard. It connects just below the bear’s left shoulder with a heavy thud. The bear shuffles backward, whimpering. Then it turns and bounds off into the woods, a fast black blur.

I meant all the way to Lady Armitage’s house, which will be the climax of our efforts. Once I have my amulet, you can withdraw.” Alex laughed. “Oh dear, I do love you,” he said— And silence clamped down between them. “Um,” he added, pushing a hand through his hair. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.” “Of course,” Charlotte agreed hastily. She realized she had stopped walking, possibly because her heart seemed to have stopped beating; she began to stride once more along the street. “Do not look so concerned on my behalf, Captain. It is a common enough statement. For example, I myself love that house there with the wooden shutters. I love tea. I love you, and your smile, and the way you sigh in your sleep. See, common. Unconcerning. We are still enemies.” “Mortal enemies,” he agreed, smiling rather self-consciously.

I suddenly think of the porn I watched earlier, the husky moans of the guy who was being drilled, and the dirty memory makes me clamp harder around Wes. He lifts his head abruptly, his finger stilling but not withdrawing. Uneasiness circles my gut as I meet his eyes. Lust has darkened them to stormy silver, and his throat works as he swallows. “Why did you stop?” I swallow, too. “Are you going to…fuck me now?” The question brings a jolt of panic. As hot as it was to watch on a screen, I don’t think I’m ready to experience that for myself yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready— “No.” He’s quick to reassure me, his gaze softening when he sees my face. “Not unless you want me to.” “I…” I bite my lip. “I…don’t know. Maybe another time.” Maybe another time? God, when I go gay, I really go gay. Wes’s lips quiver. “We’ll put a pin in that.

heroin erased the myriad collection of endless worries that had kept me awake all night most of my life. It had freed me from feeling anything: loss, heartbreak, regret, grief, resentment, as well as the burning hatred and disgust I felt not only for myself but also for other people I thought had wronged me, real or imagined. When dope enveloped me in its golden glow, all that melted away like springtime snow. The world became black and white, boiled down to just getting enough drugs each day to keep the dogs of withdrawals off my heels. I felt as though heroin had saved me from a life of misery, and I was prepared to go to any lengths to make sure I would always have it. Heroin was my number one, and anything else—everything else—was such a far-distant second place as to be virtually unseen on the radar screen of my life’s importance.

Voltaire was so engrossed in the struggle against ecclesiastical tyranny that during the later decades of his life he was compelled almost to withdraw from the war on political corruption and oppression. “Politics is not in my line: I have always confined myself to doing my little best to make men less foolish and more honorable.” He knew how complex a matter political philosophy can become, and he shed his certainties as he grew. “I am tired of all these people who govern states from the recesses of their garrets”;95 “these legislators who rule the world at two cents a sheet; . . . unable to govern their wives or their households they take great pleasure in regulating the universe.”96 It is impossible to settle these matters with simple and general formulae, or by dividing all people into fools and knaves on the one hand, and on the other, ourselves. “Truth has not the name of a party”; and he writes to Vauvenargues: “It is the duty of a man like you to have preferences, but not exclusions.”97

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest. I am satisfied—I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?

When I Want to Be More Like Jesus Whoever keeps His word, truly the love of God is perfected in him. By this we know that we are in Him. He who says he abides in Him ought himself also to walk just as He walked. 1 JOHN 2:5-6 NOTHING REVEALS to a woman how close or far away she is from being like Jesus than the relationship she has with her husband. The way she thinks, talks, acts, and reacts around him—or in response to him—shows her how far she has to go in order to become all that God wants her to be. Marriage is one of the true testing grounds for what is in all of us. Any selfishness, inconsideration, or lack of love in either a husband or wife will be revealed as they live together day after day, year after year. But if ever a woman doesn’t like what she sees happening in herself with regard to her marriage relationship, she can seek to be more like Jesus, so that His love, selflessness, and kindness will grow in her and be revealed to those around her—especially her husband. (A man can and should do the same thing, of course, but this is about you right now.) Ask God to help you walk as Jesus walked. The only way to actually do that is by the power of the Holy Spirit. If you have received Jesus, then you have His Holy Spirit in you, and you can live God’s way because the Holy Spirit enables you to do so. The way to have the perfect love of Jesus grow in you is to be daily in God’s Word so you can hear from Him about how to live, and you can read about the way Jesus lived, and you can let the Word live in you so you can be led by God’s Spirit to make the right choices about how to live your life. The Bible says if we say we know God and do not keep His commandments, we have no truth in us (1 John 2:4). Thank God that you have the mind of Christ and therefore all you need to become more Christlike. Ask the Holy Spirit to lead you and teach you and enable you to have the same compassion, selflessness, forgiveness, mercy, and love toward your husband that Jesus has toward you. Ask Him to fill you with His truth. My Prayer to God LORD, help me to think like You, act like You, and talk like You—with compassion, love, grace, and mercy. Take away everything in me that is not of You—all anger, bitterness, criticism, and lack of love. Remove every tendency in me to function in the flesh and lash out with my words or actions. Take away any desire in me to withdraw from my husband, whether physically, emotionally, or mentally. I know that holding myself apart from him is not what You want me to do, for Your nature is to have us draw close to each other as You draw close to us, and I want to imitate You. Lead me in Your ways, Lord. Teach me what Your unconditional love means and help me to display it. Fill me so full of Your love and forgiveness that it overflows from me to my husband. Mold my heart into the way You want it to be. Change me every time I read Your Word. Help me to be so sold out to You that I cannot move or speak apart from the love You put in my heart. Lord, You are beautiful, kind, gentle, faithful, true, unselfish, wise, lovely, peaceful, good, and holy. You are light and life. Enable me to be more like You. In Jesus’ name I pray.

Hey!” I bark, as loud as I can, and bring my arms above my head, trying to make myself look as large as possible. “Hey! Get out of here! Go on. Go.” The bear withdraws another inch, confused, startled. “I said go.” I reach out and strike against the nearest tree with my foot, sending a spray of bark in the bear’s direction. As the bear still hesitates, uncertain—but not growling now, on the defensive, confused—I drop down into a crouch and scoop up the first rock I can get my fist around, and then I’m up and chucking it, hard. It connects just below the bear’s left shoulder with a heavy thud. The bear shuffles backward, whimpering. Then it turns and bounds off into the woods, a fast black blur.” "Holy shit," Alex bursts out behind me. He exhales, long and loud, bends over, and straightens up again. "Holy shit." The adrenaline, the release of tension, has made him forget; for a second, the new mask is dropped, and a glimpse of the old Alex is revealed. I feel a brief surge of nausea. I keep thinking of the bear's wounded, desperate eyes, and the heavy thud of the rock against its shoulder. But I had no choice. It is the rule of the Wilds. "That was crazy. You're crazy." Alex shakes his head. "The old Lena would have bolted." You must be bigger, and stronger, and tougher. A coldness radiates through me, a solid wall that is growing, piece by piece in my chest. He doesn't love me. He never loved me.

What we need is a Tools to Help You Co-habit With Your Suffering Day. I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon. In the meantime, though, here are my tools. Share. They might help others. Talk. Don’t keep it to yourself. There’s a great saying in Narcotics Anonymous: an addict alone is in bad company. Let people in. It’s scary and sometimes it can go wrong, but when you manage to connect with people, it’s magic. Let people go. (The toxic ones.) They don’t need to know – just gently withdraw. Learn to say no. I struggled so much with this, but when I started to do it, it was one of the most liberating things that ever happened to me. Learn to say yes. As I’ve got older, I’ve become quite ‘safe’. I am trying more and more to take myself out of my comfort zone. Find purpose. It can be anything – a charity, volunteering … Accept that Life is a roller coaster. Ups and downs. Accept yourself. Even the bits you really don’t like – you can work on those. No one is perfect. Try not to judge. If I’m judging people, it says more about where I am than about them. It’s at that point that I probably need to talk to someone … Music is a mood-altering drug. Some songs can make you cry, but some can make you really euphoric. I choose to mostly listen to the latter. Exercise. There is science to back me up here. Exercise is a no-brainer for mood enhancement. Look after something. Let something need you for its survival. It doesn’t have to be kids. It can be an animal, a houseplant, anything. And last but not least … Faith. I’m not sure what I believe in, but I do feel that when I pray, my prayers are being heard. Not always answered, but heard. And that’s enough.

Depression: What depressed person doesn’t think of himself or herself as a miserable, unredeemable failure? Anger: As in “STAY AWAY or you will see me, and what you see won’t be pretty.” Look for the paradoxical combination of self-loathing and arrogant judgment. Men are specialists at this.       Anorexia: The deep logic of anorexia is that you are unworthy and deserve nothing, so you give yourself nothing. If you give yourself nothing, perhaps you will disappear, or at least less of you will be seen.       Fear and withdrawal: You might as well avoid other people since you feel like you don’t belong with them. You don’t want to be seen.       Exhibitionism: The person who is the life of the party acts shameless in the hope that such a thing is possible.      Addiction: This will both cause shame and cure it, at least temporarily.       Cutting: This seems like the perfect treatment. It punishes you for being “bad,” and the blood makes you feel punished and therefore cleansed. Of course cutting silences shame for only an hour or so, but at least that’s something.       Fears of being exposed: Among the socially or financially successful can lurk a persistent sense that they are only one misstep from being found out and humiliated.       Suicide: Sadly, some people who expect to be exposed and humiliated feel as if they have no alternative but suicide. Many others who live with shame wish they could take their lives, but they are too afraid of what death might bring.       Doubts that God could ever love you: Who could love something so gross?       “I can’t forgive myself”: You might be saying, “I believe God has forgiven me, but something is still wrong. I still feel dirty.”       “I’m just a failure”: Who hasn’t thought that? Of course, families remain the hotbed for shame.

Just pick one!' Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed- his brothers no doubt the loudest. I reached a hand toward the levers and stared at the three numbers, beyond my trembling, tattooed fingers. I, II, III. They meant nothing to me beyond life and death. Chance might save me, but- Two. Two was a lucky number, because that was like Tamlin and me- just two people. One had to be bad, because one was like Amarantha, or the Attor- solitary beings. One was a nasty number, and three was too much- it was three sisters crammed into a tiny cottage, hating each other until they choked on it, until it poisoned them. Two. It was two. I could gladly, willingly, fanatically believe in a Cauldron and Fate if they would take care of me. I believed in two. Two. I reached for the second lever, but a blinding pain racked my hand before I could touch the stone. I hissed, withdrawing I opened my palm to reveal the slitted eye tattooed there. It narrowed. I had to be hallucinating. The grate was about to cover the inscription, barely six feet above my head. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The heat was too much, and metal sizzled so close to my ears. I again reached for the middle lever, but the pain paralysed my fingers. The eye had returned to its usual state. I extended my hand toward the first lever. Again, pain. I reached for the third lever. No pain. My fingers met with stone, and I looked up to find the grate not four feet from my head. Through it, I found a star-flecked violet gaze. I reached for the first lever. Pain. But when I reached for the third lever... Rhysand's face remained a mask of boredom. Sweat slipped down m brow, stinging my eyes. I could only trust him; I could only give myself up again, forced to concede by my helplessness. The spikes were so enormous up close. All I had to do was lift my arm above my head and I'd burn the flesh off my hands. 'Feyre, please!' Lucian moaned. I shook so badly I could scarcely stand. The heat of the spikes bore down on me. The stone lever was cool in my hand. I shut my eyes, unable to look at Tamlin, bracing myself up for the impact and the agony, and pulled the third lever. Silence. The pulsing heat didn't grow closer. Then- a sigh. Lucien. I opened my eyes to find my tattooed fingers white-knuckled beneath the ink as they gripped the lever. The spikes hovered not inches from my head. Unmoving- stopped. I had won- I had...

That the life of Man is but a dream has been sensed by many a one, and I too am never free of the feeling. When I consider the restrictions that are placed on the active, inquiring energies of Man; when I see that all our efforts have no other result than to satisfy needs which in turn serve no purpose but to prolong our wretched existence, and then see that all our reassurance concerning the particular questions we probe is no more than dreamy resignation, since all we are doing is to paint our prison walls with colourful figures and bright views – all of this, Wilhelm, leaves me silent. I withdraw into myself, and discover a world, albeit a notional world of dark desire rather than one of actuality and vital strength. And everything swims before my senses, and I go my way in the world wearing the smile of the dreamer. All our learned teachers and educators are agreed that children do not know why they want what they want; but no one is willing to believe that adults too, like children, wander about this earth in a daze and, like children, do not know where they come from or where they are going, act as rarely as they do according to genuine motives, and are as thoroughly governed as they are by biscuits and cake and the rod. And yet it seems palpably clear to me. I gladly confess, since I know the reply you would want to make, that they are the happiest who, like children, live for the present moment, drag their dolls around and dress and undress them, and watchfully steal by the drawer where Mama has locked away the cake, and, when at last they get their hands on what they want, devour it with their cheeks crammed full and cry, ‘More!’ – They are happy creatures. And those others, who give pompous titles to their beggarly pursuits and even to their passions, and chalk them up as vast enterprises for the good and well-being of mankind, they too are happy. – It is all very well for those who can be like that! But he who humbly perceives where it is all leading, who sees how prettily the happy man makes an Eden of his garden, and how even the unhappy man goes willingly on his weary way, panting beneath his burden, and that all are equally interested in seeing the light of the sun for one minute more – he indeed will be silent, and will create a world from within for himself, and be happy because he is a man. And then, confined as he may be, he none the less still preserves in his heart the sweet sensation of freedom, and the knowledge he can quit this prison whenever he wishes.

In Separation, the second volume of his great trilogy on attachment, John Bowlby described what had been observed when ten small children in residential nurseries were reunited with their mothers after separations lasting from twelve days to twenty-one weeks. The separations were in every case due to family emergencies and the absence of other caregivers, and in no case due to any intent on the parents’ part to abandon the child. In the first few days following the mother's departure the children were anxious, looking everywhere for the missing parent. That phase was followed by apparent resignation, even depression on the part of the child, to be replaced by what seemed like the return of normalcy. The children would begin to play, react to caregivers, accept food and other nurturing. The true emotional cost of the trauma of loss became evident only when the mothers returned. On meeting the mother for the first time after the days or weeks away, every one of the ten children showed significant alienation. Two seemed not to recognize their mothers. The other eight turned away or even walked away from her. Most of them either cried or came close to tears; a number alternated between a tearful and an expressionless face. The withdrawal dynamic has been called “detachment” by John Bowlby. Such detachment has a defensive purpose. It has one meaning: so hurtful was it for me to experience your absence that to avoid such pain again, I will encase myself in a shell of hardened emotion, impervious to love — and therefore to pain. I never want to feel that hurt again. Bowlby also pointed out that the parent may be physically present but emotionally absent owing to stress, anxiety, depression, or preoccupation with other matters. From the point of view of the child, it hardly matters. His encoded reactions will be the same, because for him the real issue is not merely the parent's physical presence but her or his emotional accessibility. A child who suffers much insecurity in his relationship with his parents will adopt the invulnerability of defensive detachment as his primary way of being. When parents are the child's working attachment, their love and sense of responsibility will usually ensure that they do not force the child into adopting such desperate measures. Peers have no such awareness, no such compunctions, and no such responsibility. The threat of abandonment is ever present in peer-oriented interactions, and it is with emotional detachment that children automatically respond. No wonder, then, that cool is the governing ethic in peer culture, the ultimate virtue. Although the word cool has many meanings, it predominately connotes an air of invulnerability. Where peer orientation is intense, there is no sign of vulnerability in the talk, in the walk, in the dress, or in the attitudes.

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When you teach someone your true name, you place everything you are in their hands.” “I know, but I may never have the chance again. This is the only thing I have to give, and I would give it to you.” “Eragon, what you are proposing…It is the most precious thing one person can give another.” “I know.” A shiver ran through Arya, and then she seemed to withdraw within herself. After a time, she said, “No one has ever offered me such a gift before…I’m honored by your trust, Eragon, and I understand how much this means to you, but no, I must decline. It would be wrong for you to do this and wrong for me to accept just because tomorrow we may be killed or enslaved. Danger is no reason to act foolishly, no matter how great our peril.” Eragon inclined his head. Her reasons were good reasons, and he would respect her choice. “Very well, as you wish,” he said. “Thank you, Eragon.” A moment passed. Then he said, “Have you ever told anyone your true name?” “No.” “Not even your mother?” Her mouth twisted. “No.” “Do you know what it is?” “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?” He half shrugged. “I didn’t. I just wasn’t sure.” Silence came between them. Then, “When…how did you learn your true name?” Arya was quiet for so long, he began to think that she would refuse to answer. Then she took a breath and said, “It was a number of years after I left Du Weldenvarden, when I finally had become accustomed to my role among the Varden and the dwarves. Faolin and my other companions were away, and I had a great deal of time to myself. I spent most of it exploring Tronjheim, wandering in the empty reaches of the city-mountain, where others rarely tread. Tronjheim is bigger than most realize, and there are many strange things within it: rooms, people, creatures, forgotten artifacts…As I wandered, I thought, and I came to know myself better than ever I had before. One day I discovered a room somewhere high in Tronjheim--I doubt I could locate it again, even if I tried. A beam of sunlight seemed to pour into the room, though the ceiling was solid, and in the center of the room was a pedestal, and upon the pedestal was growing a single flower. I do not know what kind of flower it was; I have never seen its like before or since. The petals were purple, but the center of the blossom was like a drop of blood. There were thorns upon the stem, and the flower exuded the most wonderful scent and seemed to hum with a music all its own. It was such an amazing and unlikely thing to find, I stayed in the room, staring at the flower for longer than I can remember, and it was then and there that I was finally able to put words to who I was and who I am.” “I would like to see that flower someday.” “Perhaps you will.” Arya glanced toward the Varden’s camp. “I should go. There is much yet to be done.” He nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.” “Tomorrow.” Arya began to walk away. After a few steps, she paused and looked back. “I’m glad that Saphira chose you as her Rider, Eragon. And I’m proud to have fought alongside you. You have become more than any of us dared hope. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that.” Then she resumed her stride, and soon she disappeared around the curve of the hill, leaving him alone with Saphira and the Eldunarí.

The Night-Song, the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is condemned never to love. It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my soul too is a gushing spring. It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too is the song of a lover. Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the language of love. Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I am begirt with light. Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I then suck at the breasts of light! And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light. But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the flames I send forth. I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking. Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing. Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the end of the feast! They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there 'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be bridged. An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I have given:—thus do I thirst for wickedness. To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:—thus do I thirst for wickedness. For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my loneliness give birth. My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue grow weary of itself. He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom. Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden hands. Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons! Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do they speak with their light—to me alone are they silent. Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it runneth its course. Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward suns,—thus doth every sun go its way. Like a tempest do the Suns fly over their course: for such is their way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness. Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk and comfort from the udders of light. Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice! Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst! It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after darkness! And loneliness! It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,—for speech do I long. It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my soul too is a gushing spring. It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too is the song of a lover.

If the other person is really another, at a certain stage I must be surprised, disoriented. If we are to meet not just through what we have in common but in what is different between us— which presupposes a transformation of myself and of the other as well—then our differences can no longer be opaque qualities. They must become meaning. In the perception of the other, this happens when the other organism, instead of "behaving" like me, engages with the things in my world in a style that is at first mysterious to me but which at least seems to me a coherent style because it responds to certain possibilities which fringed the things in my world. Similarly, when I am reading, there must be a certain moment where the author's intention escapes me, where he withdraws himself. Then I catch up from behind, fall into step, or else I turn over a few pages and, a bit later, a happy phrase brings me back and leads me to the core of the new signification, and I find access to it through one of its "aspects" which was already part of my experience. Rationality, or the agreement of minds, does not require that we all reach the same idea by the same road, or that significations be enclosed in definitions. It requires only that every experience contain points of catch for all other ideas and that "Ideas" have a configuration. This double requirement is the postulation of a world.

The relation between the things and my body is decidedly singular: it is what makes me sometimes remain in appearances, and it is also what sometimes brings me to the things themselves; it is what produces the buzzing of appearances, it is also what silences them and casts me fully into the world. Everything comes to pass as though my power to reach the world and my power to entrench myself in phantasms only came one with the other; even more: as though the access to the world were but the other face of a withdrawal and this retreat to the margin of the world a servitude and another expression of my natural power to enter into it. The world is what I perceive, but as soon as we examine and express its absolute proximity, it also becomes, inexplicably, irremediable distance. The "natural" man holds on to both ends of the chain, thinks at the same time that his perception enters into the things and that it is formed this side of his body. Yet coexist as the two convictions do without difficulty in the exercise of life, once reduced to theses and to propositions they destroy one another and leave us in confusion.

Burckhardt, like Tocqueville, still believed in the necessity of social rules and conventions, in the need for human beings to have a conscience and a sense of moral restraint, and in free will. Yet in confronting what he saw as the distasteful direction of modernity, Burckhardt himself could only recommend withdrawal. At his university, Burckhardt enjoyed a life undisturbed by any outward events or excitement, a life of sweet repose surrounded by scholarship, art, music, and beauty. However, he always remained uneasy about the developments taking place beyond his door, about which he felt he could do nothing. As he confessed to a friend, “I, at least, say to myself daily, this could all end in an hour.” His one hope was that at some remote future date, human beings might once again discover the humanist culture of old Europe, the place where “the richest formations originate, a home of every contrast … where everything that can be thought has been given voice and expression.”74

My Order emerged,” he breathed and the terror in his voice told me all I needed to about what had happened. “You’re not a Dragon?” I asked, my own voice cracking with fear for him. Father would have been more than furious to discover that his son was anything other than a full blooded Dragon Shifter. It was a matter of pride and respect; he ridiculed families with mixed blood, he believed wholeheartedly in the superiority of our kind. One of his sons being anything other was totally unthinkable. Xavier shook his head slowly, trying to withdraw his hand from mine as footsteps sounded on the stairs behind me but I refused to release him. “It doesn’t change anything for me,” I growled. “You’re still my brother, I don’t care if you’re a Werewolf or a Vampire or a-” “So he told you, did he?” Father’s cold voice came from the doorway behind me and the hairs along the back of my neck stood to attention in warning. Xavier snatched his hand out of mine, blinking away the evidence of the tears which hadn’t even fallen. I stood before him, placing myself between him and Father. “It doesn’t matter,” I said firmly, though the simmering rage in my father’s eyes told a very different story. “I’m the oldest. I’m the first in line anyway, Xavier never wanted to challenge me for that role so-” “Yes, I still have my Heir but I’ve lost the spare. Did he tell you exactly what Order he is?” Father snarled, his eyes changing to their Dragon form and a trail of smoke leaving his nostrils. He was so angry about this that he was battling against the urge to shift. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so close to the edge before. “Not yet. But surely it’s not the end of the world if-” “Shift,” Father commanded, his gaze passing me to land on my brother. Xavier got out of his chair and backed up, shaking his head in panic. His skin looked odd though, like there was light shining from within it, trying to break free. “I told you, I’ll get control of it; I won’t shift ever,” he said anxiously. “No one will ever find out that I’m-” “SHIFT!” Father bellowed, using fear to force the change on him. Xavier cried out in panic as the light beneath his skin grew to a powerful glow and he bucked forward as his Order form took over. I backed up as his form changed, giving him room to become- “Fucking hell,” I breathed, my eyes widening in panic. “My thoughts precisely,” Father hissed venomously. Xavier had transformed into a lilac Pegasus complete with golden horn and rainbow patterned wings. His coat shone with glitter in the light of my magical orbs and his wide, horsey eyes looked back at us fearfully. I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, scrambling for something, anything to say. “I... didn’t know we had any recessive Pegasus genes in the bloodline...maybe he's linked to the constellation,” I muttered, unsure what else I could say. Father hated the weaker, more common Orders. He was a Dragon through and through; he loved power, invoking fear and breathing fire. A Pegasus was about as far as you could get to the opposite end of the Order spectrum. They were flying horses who pooped glitter, granted wishes and were... cute. Xavier hadn’t even been lucky enough to have a dark coloured coat, it was lilac. Lilac! (DARIUS POV)

Dear Friend, Recently I have suffered a devastating loss. I am grieving, and it will take months and even years to recover from this loss. I wanted to let you know that I will cry from time to time. I don’t apologize for my tears since they are not a sign of weakness or a lack of faith. They are God’s gift to me to express the extent of my loss, and they are also a sign that I am recovering. At times you may see me angry for no apparent reason. Sometimes I’m not sure why. All I know is that my emotions are intense because of my grief. If I don’t always make sense to you, please be forgiving and patient with me. And if I repeat myself again and again, please accept this as normal. More than anything else, I need your understanding and your presence. You don’t always have to know what to say or even say anything if you don’t know how to respond. Your presence and a touch or hug lets me know you care. Please don’t wait for me to call you, since sometimes I am too tired or tearful to do so. If I tend to withdraw from you, please don’t let me do that. I need you to reach out to me for several months. Pray for me that I would come to see meaning in my loss someday and that I would know God’s comfort and love. It does help to let me know that you are praying for me. If you have experienced a similar type of loss, please feel free to share it with me. It will help, rather than cause me to feel worse. And don’t stop sharing if I begin to cry. It’s all right, and any tears you express as we talk are alright, too. This loss is so painful, and right now it feels like the worst thing that could ever happen to me. But I will survive and eventually recover. I cling to that knowledge, even though there have been times when I didn’t feel it. I know that I will not always feel as I do now. Laughter and joy will emerge once again someday. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for listening and praying. Your concern comforts me and is a gift for which I will always be thankful.26

I am an addict. I’m the pathetic girl who just can’t take a hint, the one who refuses to let go. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve seen it in the face of every person who looks at me now—the pity and the concern. Their withdrawal has cost me my pride, my self-respect, and the respect of the people who know me. It’s cost me far more than any high is worth. And it’s past time that I remember how to kick…

I don't have to tell anything, to myself or to anyone else. I could just sit here, peacefully. I could withdraw. It's possible to go so far in, so far down and back, they could never get you out.

Fernando Pessoa’s Book of Disquiet: The nocturnal glory of being great without being anything! The somber majesty of unknown splendour … and all at once I experience the sublime state of the monk in the wilderness or of the hermit in his retreat, acquainted with the substance of Christ in the stones and in the caves of withdrawal from the world. And at this table in my room I’m less of a petty, anonymous employee. I write words as if they were the soul’s salvation and I gild myself with the impossible sunset of high and vast hills in the distance, and with the statue I received in exchange for life’s pleasures and with the ring of renunciation on my evangelical finger, stagnant jewel of my ecstatic disdain.8

Here’s my protocol for my usual monthly 3-day fast from Thursday dinner to Sunday dinner: On Wednesday and Thursday, plan phone calls for Friday. Determine how you can be productive via cell phone for 4 hours. This will make sense shortly. Have a low-carb dinner around 6 p.m. on Thursday. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings, sleep as late as possible. The point is to let sleep do some of the work for you. Consume exogenous ketones or MCT oil upon waking and 2 more times throughout the day at 3- to 4-hour intervals. I primarily use KetoCaNa and caprylic acid (C8), like Brain Octane. The exogenous ketones help “fill the gap” for the 1 to 3 days that you might suffer carb withdrawal. Once you’re in deep ketosis and using body fat, they can be omitted. On Friday (and Saturday if needed), drink some caffeine and prepare to WALK. Be out the door no later than 30 minutes after waking. I grab a cold liter of water or Smartwater out of my fridge, add a dash of pure, unsweetened lemon juice to attenuate boredom, add a few pinches of salt to prevent misery/headaches/cramping, and head out. I sip this as I walk and make phone calls. Podcasts also work. Once you finish your water, fill it up or buy another. Add a little salt, keep walking, and keep drinking. It’s brisk walking—NOT intense exercise—and constant hydration that are key. I have friends who’ve tried running or high-intensity weight training instead, and it does not work for reasons I won’t bore you with. I told them, “Try brisk walking and tons of water for 3 to 4 hours. I bet you’ll be at 0.7 mmol the next morning.” One of them texted me the next morning: “Holy shit. 0.7 mmol.” Each day of fasting, feel free to consume exogenous ketones or fat (e.g., coconut oil in tea or coffee) as you like, up to 4 tablespoons. I will often reward myself at the end of each fasting afternoon with an iced coffee with a bit of coconut cream in it. Truth be told, I will sometimes allow myself a SeaSnax packet of nori sheets. Oooh, the decadence. Break your fast on Sunday night. Enjoy it. For a 14-day or longer fast, you need to think about refeeding carefully. But for a 3-day fast, I don’t think what you eat matters much. I’ve done steak, I’ve done salads, I’ve done greasy burritos. Evolutionarily, it makes no sense that a starving hominid would need to find shredded cabbage or some such nonsense to save himself from death. Eat what you find to eat.

In fantasy, everything’s possible; you can slip out of reality into a fantasy. ‘It’s a satisfying feeling to withdraw, what can I say? I live inside my own head, so my head contains a lot of memories and a lot of ingeniousness. I consider myself to be a creative genius and the child in me, of course, tries to get away though the world around me keeps me from going too far. But the child is basically the expression of the ego, and I think this is why I want to be a child; because you can express ego, but, at the same time, you can be innocent …

Life is very tricky and we must deal with it as it is. If we do not first master it ourselves we cannot help anyone else. In the seclusion of concentrated thought lies hidden the factory of all accomplishment. Remember that. [...] Exercise your will continuously. During the day and at night you have many opportunities to work in this factory, if you do not waste your time. At night I withdraw from the world’s demands and am by myself, an absolute stranger to the world; it is a blank. Alone with my will power, I turn my thoughts in the desired direction until I have determined in my mind exactly what I wish to do and how to do it. Then I harness my will to the right activities and it creates success. In this way I have effectively used my will power many times. But it won’t work unless the application of will power is continuous.

If I had the luxury of an entire week, I would spend it meditating and reading, refreshing myself spiritually and intellectually. . . . Amidst the struggle, amidst the frustrations, amidst the endless work, I often reflect that I am forever giving—never pausing to take in. I feel urgently the need for even an hour of time to get away, to withdraw, to refuel. I need more time to think through what is being done,

I hide behind the door, so that when Reality comes in, it won't see me. I hide under the table and suddenly spring out to startle Possibility. I withdraw from myself, as if from the arms of an embrace, the two great tediums that encircle me - the tedium of being able to live only the Real, and the tedium of being able to imagine only the Possible. Thus I triumph over reality. Are these sandcastles my triumph? Of what divine substances are castles that are not sandcastles made? How do you know that, by traveling in this way, I am not obscurely rejuvenating myself? Childishly absurd, I relive my boyhood and play with the ideas of things as I once played with my toy soldiers, with which, as a boy, I did things that went totally against the very idea of soldiers. Drunk on errors, I momentarily find myself erroneously alive.

All the solutions I imagine are internal to the amorous system: withdrawal, travel, suicide, it is always the lover who sequesters himself, goes away, or dies ; if he sees himself sequestered, departed, or dead, what he sees is always a lover : I order myself to be still in love and to be no longer in love. This kind of identity of the problem and its solution precisely defines the trap: I am trapped because it lies outside my reach to change systems: I am "done for" twice over : inside my own system and because I cannot substitute another system for it.

Demanders say: I’m dying here. I am shut down. My feelings don’t matter. It’s lonelier than living alone. By myself. Dismissed. I get no response. I’m hammering on their door. I yell to get a response — any response. We’re roommates. I don’t matter to them. Withdrawers say: I never get it right — can’t please. I give up, space out. Best to avoid a fight — try to keep things calm. I’m failing here. Paralyzed. No point. Go behind my wall. I try to fix it — but it doesn’t work. I numb out.

I was addicted to the pain and withdrawal he put me through, because the high was so intense every time it returned. There was no person or substance in my life that could have the impact he had on me. With one hit of his love, I found myself able to feel and see clearly again.

We kissed once.” She spoke quietly and lowered her gaze. “I esteem you greatly, Joseph Carrington, though I have wondered if my efforts in that kiss were sufficiently unmemorable as to make you regret the occasion.” He was so busy trying to muster the discipline to let go of her hand and take himself off that her words didn’t register immediately in his befuddled mind. She esteemed him greatly? “Louisa, your efforts were not… unmemorable.” He saw her drop frosty politesse over the hint of vulnerability in her eyes, felt her spine stiffen fractionally—and knew he’d said the wrong thing. He could not abide those withdrawals, however subtle. “Louisa, since we kissed, I have thought of little else, and I esteem you greatly, as well. Very greatly.” While Joseph watched, a blush, beautiful and rosy, stole up Louisa Windham’s graceful neck. “I have had occasion to consider that kiss a time or two myself,” she said. He thought her voice might have been just a trifle husky. Hope, an entire Christmas of hope, blossomed in the center of his chest. “Perhaps you would like a small reminder now?” He would adore giving her a reminder. A reminder that took the rest of the afternoon and saw their clothes strewn about the chamber. Twelve days of reminders would work nicely, with a particular part of Joseph’s body promptly appointing itself Lord of Misrule. He would not push her, but he would get a cane, the better to support himself should random insecurity threaten his knees in future. Louisa lifted her gaze to his and seemed to visually inventory his features. After suffering her perusal for an eternity, Joseph let out a breath when she twined her arms slowly around his neck. He would not harry her. It would be a chaste kiss, a kiss to reassure— Louisa Windham did not need any reminders about how to kiss a man. She gently took possession of Joseph’s mouth, plundered his wits, and stole off with his best intentions.

Several times, I woke to the sound of him tapping his grey nails against the steering wheel.  When I opened my eyes to look at him, I could see his elongated canines.  At those times, I wanted to reach over and pat his leg, but I held myself back. When I woke to see his ears pointed too, I quietly studied him for a few minutes.  I knew I was the cause of his agitation.  He’d sensed my withdrawal.  I hadn’t wanted him to see my confusion.  I wanted to talk to Sam first, before saying anything to Clay.  But my approach obviously wasn’t the right one.  Clay had stuck by me through everything.  I needed to trust that he wouldn’t turn away from me after I revealed what had happened. “Clay...” He paused his tapping. “Could you pull over for a minute?” He glanced at me, lifted a concerned brow, but did as I asked.  The tires crunched on the snowy shoulder.  He stopped the car then turned toward me. A sad smile lifted my lips.  I hated to see him like this.  I tapped my lips.  I needed affirmation that we still had our connection, and he needed assurance I was fine. His tight grip on the steering wheel loosened, and he shook his head in amusement.  I held my breath as he leaned toward me. Clay cradled my face in his hands and kissed me tenderly.  I clutched his shirt, dragging him closer.  When he opened his mouth to nip my bottom lip, I groaned and willingly let him in.  We steamed the windows.  My lungs burned for air.  Finally, I had to pull away to catch my breath.  He wrapped his arms around me and placed small gentle kisses on the top of my head. His neck hovered in my line of sight.  I could give him what he wanted.  A quick bite and I wouldn’t need to worry about other potential Mates.  I could Claim him as my own.  But I didn’t want to hurt him anymore.  Physically or emotionally.  I pulled back from our make-out session. Clay gave me one last kiss on the lips then put the car in drive.  The smooth, tan skin of his very human ears called my attention, as did his clean, pink nails.  He looked content, no longer tapping his fingers while he stared ahead at the snow-covered roads. I

It takes a week or so for withdrawal symptoms to work through a heroin addict’s body. While I wouldn’t pretend to compare severity here, doubtless we need patience, too, when we deprive ourselves of the manic digital distractions we’ve grown addicted to. That’s how it was with my Tolstoy and me. The periods without distraction grew longer, I settled into the sofa and couldn’t hear the phone, couldn’t hear the ghost-buzz of something else to do. I’m teaching myself to slip away from the world again.

The old order types were simple and straightforward and mainly sensible. The new order types that accompanied the explosion of high-frequency trading were nothing like them, either in detail or spirit. When, in the summer of 2012, the Puzzle Masters gathered with Brad and Don and Ronan and Rob and Schwall in a room to think about them, there were maybe one hundred fifty different order types. What purpose did each serve? How might each be used? The New York Stock Exchange had created an order type that ensured that the trader who used it would trade only if the order on the other side of his was smaller than his own order; the purpose seemed to be to prevent a high-frequency trader from buying a small number of shares from an investor who was about to crush the market with a huge sale. Direct Edge created an order type that, for even more complicated reasons, allowed the high-frequency trading firm to withdraw 50 percent of its order the instant someone tried to act on it. All of the exchanges offered something called a Post-Only order. A Post-Only order to buy 100 shares of Procter & Gamble at $80 a share says, “I want to buy a hundred shares of Procter & Gamble at eighty dollars a share, but only if I am on the passive side of the trade, where I can collect a rebate from the exchange.” As if that weren’t squirrely enough, the Post-Only order type now had many even more dubious permutations. The Hide Not Slide order, for instance. With a Hide Not Slide order, a high-frequency trader—for who else could or would use such a thing?—would say, for example, “I want to buy a hundred shares of P&G at a limit of eighty dollars and three cents a share, Post-Only, Hide Not Slide.” One of the joys of the Puzzle Masters was their ability to figure out what on earth that meant. The descriptions of single order types filed with the SEC often went on for twenty pages, and were in themselves puzzles—written in a language barely resembling English and seemingly designed to bewilder anyone who dared to read them. “I considered myself a somewhat expert on market structure,” said Brad. “But I needed a Puzzle Master with me to fully understand what the fuck any of it means.” A Hide Not Slide order—it was just one of maybe fifty such problems the Puzzle Masters solved—worked as follows: The trader said he was willing to buy the shares at a price ($80.03) above the current offering price ($80.02), but only if he was on the passive side of the trade, where he would be paid a rebate. He did this not because he wanted to buy the shares. He did this in case an actual buyer of stock—a real investor, channeling capital to productive enterprise—came along and bought all the shares offered at $80.02. The high-frequency trader’s Hide Not Slide order then established him as first in line to purchase P&G shares if a subsequent investor came into the market to sell those shares. This was the case even if the investor who had bought the shares at $80.02 expressed further demand for them at the higher price. A Hide Not Slide order was a way for a high-frequency trader to cut in line, ahead of the people who’d created the line in the first place, and take the kickbacks paid to whoever happened to be at the front of the line.

A Warrior, a Healer, and Tao The leader can act as a warrior or as a healer. As a warrior, the leader acts with power and decision. That is the Yang or masculine aspect of leadership. Most of the time, however, the leader acts as a healer and is in an open, receptive, and nourishing state. That is the feminine or Yin aspect of leadership. This mixture of doing and being, of warrior and healer, is both productive and potent. There is a third aspect of leadership: Tao. Periodically, the leader withdraws from the group and returns to silence, returns to God. Being, doing, being… then, Tao. I withdraw in order to empty myself of what has happened, to replenish my spirit. A brilliant warrior does not make every possible brilliant intervention. A knowing healer takes time to nourish self as well as others. Such simplicity and economy is a valuable lesson. It deeply affects the group. The leader who knows when to listen, when to act, and when to withdraw can work effectively with nearly anyone, even with other professionals, group leaders, or therapists, perhaps the most difficult and sophisticated group members. Because the leader is clear, the work is delicate and does not violate anybody’s sensibilities.

CHRIST, OUR SOURCE OF UNITY Today Christians argue about doctrines and divide over perceptions of end-time events. Yet let us look at the deeper issue: Do we each love Jesus Christ? If so, our love for Him is the result of His love for us. Even if we disagree with one another on minor doctrines, we should treat each other with reverence, for Christ has personally loved us. You see, the proof that we truly know Jesus Christ is not measured by the degrees we post on a wall but by the degree of love for Him that burns in our hearts. Do you not love Him? Your love is a response to the relentless warmth of God’s love for you, and His love has proven itself irresistible. He says, “You did not choose Me, but I chose you” (John 15:16). Again He says, “No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him” (John 6:44). Even our coming to Him is a product of His love for us. When I say, “I love You, Jesus,” it is because at some point long before I knew Him, before I could discern His voice or recognize His influence in my life, a power born of His love was drawing me to Him. Yes, I know I am not worthy, but still Christ loved me. True, I have no righteousness of my own, but I imagine there was a moment in Heaven when the Son turned to the heavenly Father and said, “I love Francis. I will bring him to Myself, show him My ways, and become the strength of his life.” BEHOLD HOW HE LOVES US Our capacity to actually dwell in Christ’s presence is based upon knowing the true nature of God. If we see Him as a loving Father, we will draw near; if He seems to be a harsh judge, we will withdraw. Indeed, everything that defines us is influenced by our perception of God. If we do not believe God cares about us, we will be overly focused on caring for ourselves. If we feel insignificant or ignored by Him, we will exhaust ourselves seeking significance from others. Once we accept the profound truth that God loves us, that He desires we draw near to Him, a door opens before us into His heart. Here, in the shelter of the Most High, we can find rest and renewed power for our souls. Our Lord is not distant from us, for He is actually “touched with the feeling of our infirmities” (Heb. 4:15, KJV). He feels the pain of what we experience on earth. He participates in the life we live, for “in him we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:28, KJV). He is not removed from our need; we are His body. The

For all that is high is not holy, nor is everything that is sweet good; every desire is not pure; nor is everything that is dear to us pleasing unto God. Willingly do I accept that grace whereby I am made humbler and more wary and more ready to renounce myself. He who is made learned by the gift of grace and taught wisdom by the stroke of the withdrawal thereof, will not dare to claim any good thing for himself, but will rather confess that he is poor and needy.

Who giveth us richly all things to enjoy." 1 Timothy 6:17 Our Lord Jesus is ever giving, and does not for a solitary instant withdraw his hand. As long as there is a vessel of grace not yet full to the brim, the oil shall not be stayed. He is a sun ever-shining; he is manna always falling round the camp; he is a rock in the desert, ever sending out streams of life from his smitten side; the rain of his grace is always dropping; the river of his bounty is ever-flowing, and the well-spring of his love is constantly overflowing. As the King can never die, so his grace can never fail. Daily we pluck his fruit, and daily his branches bend down to our hand with a fresh store of mercy. There are seven feast-days in his weeks, and as many as are the days, so many are the banquets in his years. Who has ever returned from his door unblessed? Who has ever risen from his table unsatisfied, or from his bosom un-emparadised? His mercies are new every morning and fresh every evening. Who can know the number of his benefits, or recount the list of his bounties? Every sand which drops from the glass of time is but the tardy follower of a myriad of mercies. The wings of our hours are covered with the silver of his kindness, and with the yellow gold of his affection. The river of time bears from the mountains of eternity the golden sands of his favour. The countless stars are but as the standard bearers of a more innumerable host of blessings. Who can count the dust of the benefits which he bestows on Jacob, or tell the number of the fourth part of his mercies towards Israel? How shall my soul extol him who daily loadeth us with benefits, and who crowneth us with loving-kindness? O that my praise could be as ceaseless as his bounty! O miserable tongue, how canst thou be silent? Wake up, I pray thee, lest I call thee no more my glory, but my shame. "Awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake right early.

Statements that someone with a dismissive attachment style might make: My autonomy, independence and self-sufficiency are very important to me. I am generally comfortable without close relationships and do well on my own. I want to be in relationships and have some closeness with people, but I can only tolerate closeness to a limit and then I need space. I prefer not to share my feelings or show a partner how I feel deep down. I frequently don’t know what I’m feeling or needing and/or I can miss cues from others about what they are feeling or needing. I feel uncomfortable relying on partners and having partners depend or rely on me. I either struggle with making relationship commitments or if I do commit, I may secretly have one foot out the door (or at least have the back door unlocked). I am very sensitive to any signs that my partner is trying to control me or interfere with my freedom in any way (and I don’t like the word “sensitive”). I see myself or others as weak for having needs or wanting comfort, help or reassurance. During disagreements or in conflict I tend to withdraw, shut down, shut out or stonewall. I do well with the transition from being together with people to then being alone again, but once I’ve been alone for a while I can be slow to warm up to others or struggle with the transition from being alone to entering back into connection with someone.

All the solutions I imagine are internal to the amorous system: withdrawal, travel, suicide, it is always the lover who sequesters himself, goes away, or dies ; if he sees himself sequestered, departed, or dead, what he sees is always a lover : I order myself to be still in love and to be no longer in love. This kind of identity of the problem and its solution precisely defines the trap: I am trapped because it lies outside my reach to change systems: I am "done for" twice over : inside my own system and because I cannot substitute another system for.

Livia’s song flows from my lips easily. I have known her since she was a baby. I held her, cuddled her, loved her. I sing of her strength. I sing of the sweetness and humor that I know still live within her, despite the horrors she has endured. I feel her body strengthening, her blood regenerating. But as I knit her back together, something is not right. I move down from her heart to her belly. My consciousness flinches back. The baby. He—and my sister is right, it is a he—sleeps now. But there is something wrong with him. His heartbeat, which instinct tells me should sound like the gentle, swift thud of a bird’s wings, is too slow. His still-developing mind too sluggish. He slips away from us. Skies, what is the child’s song? I do not know him. I know nothing about him except that he is part Marcus and part Livia and that he is our only chance for a unified Empire. “What do you want him to be?” the Nightbringer asks. At his voice, I jump, so deep in healing that I forgot he was here. “A warrior? A leader? A diplomat? His ruh, his spirit, is within, but it is not yet formed. If you wish him to live, then you must shape him from what is there—his blood, his family. But know that in doing so, you will be bound to him and his purpose forever. You will never be able to extricate yourself.” “He is family,” I whisper. “My nephew. I wouldn’t want to extricate myself from him.” I hum, searching for his song. Do I want him to be like me? Like Elias? Certainly not like Marcus. I want him to be an Aquilla. And I want him to be a Martial. So I sing my sister Livia into him—her kindness and laughter. I sing him my father’s conviction and prudence. My mother’s thoughtfulness and intelligence. I sing him Hannah’s fire. Of his father, I sing only one thing: his strength and skill in battle—one quick word, sharp and strong and clear—Marcus if the world had not ruined him. If he had not allowed himself to be ruined. But there is something missing. I feel it. This child will one day be Emperor. He needs something deeply rooted, something that will sustain him when nothing else will: a love of his people. The thought appears in my head as if it’s been planted there. So I sing him my own love, the love I learned in the streets of Navium, in fighting for my people, in them fighting for me. The love I learned in the infirmary, healing children and telling them not to fear. His heart begins to beat in time again; his body strengthens. I feel him give my sister an almighty kick, and, relieved, I withdraw.

Shame is a function of sight. When a citizen of streets walks through the ravine, unwatched, he can choose to take his propriety with him. He can police himself. He might choose to do this: to carry his shame with him, in the form of guilt. Then again, the permutations available to the mind in the ravine are infinite. The first bitter story ever told was precisely this one; the crime of the usurper. We pretend to have knowledge that is not rightfully ours. We make something, believing that we have mastered what we have merely stolen. Finally, what we make takes vengeance upon us, and we are forced to confront the truth, which is in fact no different from the original mystery: that we know very little. I have spent a long time wondering about permanence: whether the soul can sustain irreparable damage, and how this might limit the notion of free will. Whether the psychologists are correct or not—and I am sure they are mostly not—we do carry our families with us, until death; and if our families are broken we carry the breakage in our soul. Nothing religious is ever destroyed by logic; it is destroyed only by God's withdrawal. All the stories feeding into my life are fragmenting the integrity of my voice; I hear myself telling other people's stories as if they were my own, and I feel certain that there are people out there, people I hardly know, telling mine. I am a confluence of stolen narratives, and my own story has been stolen too and fed through a foreign mouth into foreign ears. There is no moments beauty in those whom we have loved for a long time. We do not admire them, the way we do some chance woman or man on the subway as a moment's appearance of perfection in the physique. We see them as a montage of every remembered moment, the present moment often more vivid and strong than those receding into the past, but a montage nevertheless. If we remember.

My social isolation was a way of rejecting other people before they could reject me. My workaholism was a sign of Autistic hyperfixation, as well as an acceptable excuse to withdraw from public places that caused me sensory overwhelm. I got into unhealthy, codependent relationships because I needed approval and didn’t know how to get it, so I just molded myself into whatever my partner at the time was looking for.

Just as in Glenwood, his doctor decided to put him into a drug-induced coma to minimize the impact of the withdrawal. They loaded him up with lorazepam and put him to sleep. The doctor gave him alcohol intravenously, but it wasn’t enough. Could they increase the alcohol dose, we asked? Apparently not. The highest concentration available for IV use would not be enough for Hunter.

This then is what it means to seek God perfectly: to withdraw from illusion and pleasure, from worldly anxieties and desires, from the works that God does not want, from a glory that is only human display; to keep my mind free from confusion in order that my liberty may be always at the disposal of His will; to entertain silence in my heart and listen for the voice of God; to cultivate an intellectual freedom from the images of created things in order to receive the secret contact of God in obscure love; to love all men as myself; to rest in humility and to find peace in withdrawal from conflict and competition with other men; to turn aside from controversy and put away heavy loads of judgment and censorship and criticism and the whole burden of opinions that I have no obligation to carry; to have a will that is always ready to fold back within itself and draw all the powers of the soul down from its deepest center to rest in silent expectancy for the coming of God, poised in tranquil and effortless concentration upon the point of my dependence on Him; to gather all that I am, and have all that I can possibly suffer or do or be, and abandon them all to God in the resignation of a perfect love and blind faith and pure trust in God, to do His will. And then to wait in peace and emptiness and oblivion of all things. Bonum est praestolari cum silentio salutare Dei. (“It is good to wait in silence for the salvation of God.”) 7

And like any addict will tell you, it didn’t matter that I knew in the back of my mind that we were playing with fire. It didn’t matter that one day it all would have to end, that one day I’d have to go through withdrawals and peel myself off the floor. Right now, I had her. And though she told me she couldn’t give me more, I pretended like this would always be enough.

Normally, when people, especially children, experience emotional, physical, or psychological trauma it causes them to withdraw, rebel or both. It is the equivalent of being trapped between facing the consequences of exposing the secret(s) and carrying the heavy guilt of being the reason for breaking up the family. They learn to medicate the wounds of their souls in many ways in order to cope with life. Often, it can be extremely destructive and imprisoning.  Something had turned on in me that I couldn’t explain nor control. I found myself experiencing bouts of depression and not feeling valued. The more I sought love, the more I found myself drowning in the depth of lust. Validation and the longing for acceptance and love became my addiction but I wasn't even aware it was happening. My addiction had sub counterparts: over-pleasing people, feeling needed, perfectionism, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, never feeling good enough, insecurity and feeling devalued. I developed a “taking what I can get” mentality.

Developing agoraphobia is a fairly common side effect of coming off benzodiazepines – only one of a plethora of distressing psychological symptoms which may be brought on by withdrawal, as I was soon to see for myself.

I saw all the things I did not see in a long time; trapped in a cage I built for myself, the cage of old age. It's a story that many of us believe when our hair turns white, and our skin folds into wrinkles. We look at our past with regret, with longing. We look at our young self as our best self. We withdraw from life, and we gather dust.

While I wait to heal, I often find solace in solitude. I don't fully understand why, but I know I must be alone. I withdraw from the world, and in that quiet space, I focus solely on my recovery. This solitude forces me to confront my raw emotions, with no distractions to dull their intensity. It is within these moments of despair that my most brilliant ideas emerge. I allow myself to feel deeply, to the point where I can no longer feel. To overcome heartache, it's essential to exhaust every emotion—cry until the tears run dry, feel until you're tired of feeling, talk about the person until even your own voice bores you. When you are drained, empty, and devoid of emotion, you are almost across the bridge to healing. It is only then that true detachment begins. Each time my heart has been broken, I've learned how to heal myself. Heartbreak no longer holds power over me. I've realized that the only way to get over it is to go through it. The longer I deny my feelings to protect myself, the more pain I endure. But if I accept the situation and fully experience my emotions, the pain fades more quickly. At most, they may occupy my thoughts for a few days; if I loved them deeply, maybe two or three weeks. I simply withdraw from society and return when I am better, when I am healed. During my healing process, I commit to self-improvement. I channel my energy into refining the parts of myself that led to unnecessary pain. I acknowledge my mistakes, see where I went wrong, and take responsibility for my role in my suffering. And as long as he makes no effort, I am gone. The quickest way for any man to lose me is to stop trying and to make his intentions clear. While he may think I am suffering, I am actually healing. I am recalibrating, renewing, and rehabilitating. I am resurrecting, realigning, adjusting, refocusing, and resetting. I am fine-tuning. In the midst of this, I give him nothing—no attention, no thoughts, no feelings. Exes thrive on your negative emotions, so silence must be so profound that it echoes. No attention, no access. They may resort to stalking through fake profiles, but let them exert the effort. Block all other avenues of communication. I am reshaping, reorienting, tweaking, reassessing, reconfiguring, restructuring. In my absence, I am transforming. Ducked. I am for all ill purposes and intentions, my most productive and fruitful self when I am hurt or alone. This leads my naysayers, detractors and enemies to learn that for the most part, excluding death, I am by most standards, indestructible. I will build empires with the stones one throws at me. I will create fertilizers with the trash and feaces hurled at me. I will rise like pheonix from the ashes. I am antifragile, I can withstand trials, tribulations, chaos and uncertainty and grow in the face of adversity. I am the epitome of the resilience paradox, trial bloom, adversity alchemy, refiners fire and the pheonix effect. I am fortitude - me. Ducked. What’s even more magical, is what comes out on the other side of this process. It’s a peace, you do not want anyone to destroy. A clarity, you won’t risk blurring. A renewed you, a different version of you, stronger, fierce, centered and certain. A rebirth, refinement. You never saw it coming. Neither will they. Copyright ©️ 2024 Crystal Evans

I never imagined that I would fall for a scam, much less one that seemed so professional and convincing. Glossy presentations, positive reviews, and what appeared to be a genuine chance in the rapidly expanding cryptocurrency market enticed me, like many others, to participate in the Hyperverse plan. Believing that I was safeguarding my financial future, I deposited $130,400, a significant portion of my life savings. But as soon as withdrawals were prohibited, support stopped responding, and I became aware that I had been duped, things began to seem strange. It was disastrous. I was ashamed to even tell my friends or family because I felt angry with myself. I reported to every authority I could find for months in an attempt to get my money back, but to no avail. I had almost lost hope until I came across WIZARD JAMES RECOVERY COMPANY in an internet scam recovery community. I reached out, skeptical yet desperate. They showed me sympathy and respect right from the first email. Their team of experts was knowledgeable on digital forensics, blockchain traceability, and the workings of these schemes. They took me through their steps, which include collecting transaction information, tracking down wallets, and collaborating with foreign partners to track down the money trail. Although it took 92 hours, I received an email that made me cry: they had successfully recovered a sizable amount of my stolen cryptocurrency. $125,000 had been found and moved to my safe wallet. In addition to getting my money back, WIZARD JAMES RECOVERY COMPANY gave me back my peace of mind and sense of fairness. They also taught me how to stay away from frauds like this one in the future. Don't suffer in silence if you've fallen victim to Hyperverse or any other cryptocurrency scam. There is genuine assistance available, and you would be wise to get in touch with James using: Wizardjamesrecovery @ usa.com is the email address.

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My interest piques. "If you're desperate for a villain, then someone really fucked up your understanding of men." She shakes her head—I think—because I can't bring myself to withdraw from her tantalizing scent, my face pressed against her throat. "They conditioned me to avoid men like you…but I don't want to…because I need someone like you." Unable to resist, I nuzzle her neck. "Why?" I murmur. "Wolves protect their pack," she breathes out. "Which means—" "I protect you?" I pull back and complete her thought.

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In a letter to Gouverneur Morris (February 27, 1802), he drops into the following gloomy forebodings:— "Mine is an odd destiny. Perhaps no man in the United States has sacrificed or done more for the present Constitution than myself; and, contrary to all my anticipations of its fate, as you know, from the very beginning, I am still laboring to prop the frail and worthless fabric. Yet I have the murmurs of its friends no less than the curses of its foes for my reward. What can I do better than withdraw from the scene? Every day proves to me more and more that this American world was not made for me.

I would like to withdraw from my cause or purpose to lead the people if I see anyone else has more skill for that. It is honesty and success for myself. A dishonest person is not a leader.

Have you seen the Magistrate’s quarters?” “What does that have to do with whether Tyler appreciates art or not?” Rivka demanded. “If he was artsy, he’d make you artsy, too.” “I’m artsy.” Lindy fired a full broadside across the bow. Red knew when the fight was lost. “I surrender because I’m not touching that one. I rescind my previous statements, withdraw my erroneous conclusion, and throw myself on the mercy of the court.” “You might as well throw yourself on the couch, because that’s where you’re sleeping,” Lindy noted,

They don't want to see me lose my home. They want me to come to my senses before it's too late. I need a better way to cope with my feelings of loss and guilt. I need bereavement therapy. Here are some names. I should think about medication. Here's what worked for them. There are books. There are websites. There are support groups. Healing won't come from withdrawing into a fantasy world, isolating myself, spending all my time with a dog. There is such a thing as pathological grief. There is the magical thinking of pathological grief, which is a kind of dementia. Which in their collective opinion is what I have.

Ari spent most of a year splenetically venting, about his wife, his son, his partners, his employees, etc. Feeling shut out, I often found myself shuttling between resentment, detachment, and feeling intimidated. Eventually, I understood that I was withdrawing, withholding a necessary confrontation, in retaliation for the narcissistic injury I felt about my perceived lack of impact on him. This understanding helped me to reorganize and mobilize the assertiveness I needed in order to reach Ari. One day, I finally raised my voice and said, quite loudly, “You know, I would like to say some things to you, but I’m afraid if you don't like what you hear, you will bite my head off, possibly literally.” Ari looked up at me with his sharp, penetrating eyes, and I was scared. I was quite surprised and touched, though, to see Ari's eyes go moist, his face reddening.

Easy success is usually a sign of a superficial success. I must never be afraid of arduous work or that the closing stages seem so far away. No person ever accomplished anything significant in one big leap. I shall dedicate myself to making one resolute step at a time. If all one sought to achieve proved effortless, one has not sought but merely found what waited for him or her to run into at a convenient time. It pays remarkable dividends to maintain spirits suffused with hopeful optimism. We should not despair to long when we stumble because despair brings with it hesitation; it simply delays the recovery period and hinders our timely return to the forefront. At times, it is impossible not to experience doubt or avoid the onslaught of melancholy. All we can do when engulfed in uncertainly or a gloomy mindset is to continue to push forward with all our might. We suffer because we are privileged. We must remind ourselves that regardless of whatever ails us, we suffer because we still exist while other people sleep. It helps to stave off glum if one loves other people, reveres nature, and respects oneself, irrespective of their infirmities and weaknesses. It also helps if one can maintain a private sanctuary where one can withdraw to when needed to heal an aggrieved psyche. Inside each of us, we must cultivate a sacred space, a space that we can heal our wounded psyche. We can also judiciously take advantage of our free time to train our body and mind for worthwhile undertakings.

I would like to withdraw from my cause or purpose to lead the people if I see anyone else has more skill for that. It is honesty and success for myself; a dishonest person is not a leader.

I was one of those players captivated by the enticing world of "provably fair" crypto casinos, lured by the promise of transparency and fairness in gaming. With a mix of excitement and optimism, I deposited $15,000 into a well-promoted crypto casino, eager to immerse myself in the thrill of online gambling. Initially, the experience was electrifying. I won big, savoring the adrenaline rush that accompanied every spin and wager. The platform’s sleek interface and blockchain-backed fairness features seemed to reinforce its legitimacy, heightening my trust in the system. For a while, everything seemed legitimate. I had even been able to withdraw some amounts without issue, which helped solidify my confidence in the platform. But then one day, when I attempted a larger withdrawal, the system began displaying vague error messages. I tried again with the same result. Confused, I reached out to the support team. I was met with demands for excessive and seemingly unnecessary verification. The support team insisted on additional documents, citing vague policies and unclear security concerns. Their responses felt evasive, and as days turned into weeks, my funds remained inaccessible. A growing sense of anxiety and betrayal began to set in. Determined not to become just another silent victim, I searched for help. That is when I discovered PROFICIENT EXPERT CONSULTANT, a team specializing in auditing crypto casinos and recovering funds for players defrauded by unethical platforms. They conducted a meticulous audit of the casino’s smart contract and what they found was shocking. The contract was coded to quietly block withdrawals once players reached a certain profit threshold. It was a built-in trap that contradicted everything the casino claimed about fairness. PROFICIENT EXPERT CONSULTANT launched an investigation and successfully tracked down the people behind the operation. Their persistence and expertise were invaluable. In the end, I was able to recover $14,500 of my original deposit, something I had almost given up hope on. What I went through served as a powerful lesson. The crypto gaming space is full of hidden risks, and not every platform is as trustworthy as it claims. Careful research and seek support from PROFICIENT EXPERT CONSULTANT if fallen into Cryptocurrency Fraud. PROFICIENTEXPERT@CONSULTANT.COM telegram: PROFICINEXPERT

From 1793 to 1797 I remained closely at home, saw none but those who came here, and at length became very sensible of the ill effect it had on my own mind. . . . I felt enough of the effect of withdrawing from the world then, to see that it led to an antisocial and misanthropic state of mind, which severely punishes him who gives in to it. And it will be a lesson I never shall forget as to myself. —JEFFERSON TO MARIA JEFFERSON EPPES MARCH 3, 1802

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Are you going to kill me, Oraya?” I didn’t run. Didn’t move. Instead, I lay my palm flat against his chest. I surprised even myself when I replied, “Not tonight.” His hand slid from my face and swept a stray strand of black hair from my cheek, smoothing it to the side. But instead of withdrawing, his fingers tightened around my hair—clutching it, but not pulling, as if he was trying to convince himself to let me go and failing. “You might destroy me anyway.

My most recent challenge began when I made a $150,000 investment in what was presented to me as a highly lucrative policy. The opportunity seemed almost too good to pass up. Initially, everything appeared to be progressing smoothly. Within just two months, I received reports that my investment had grown to an impressive $350,000. However, this is where the trouble began. When I attempted to withdraw the funds, I encountered unexpected delays. Each time I tried to access my money, I was met with new obstacles. The investment firm explained that there were "technical issues" preventing the withdrawal, but the situation did not improve. Instead, they began demanding additional payments in order to release my funds. As an investor, I was caught off guard by these requests, but in an effort to resolve the issue and get my money back, I complied. Unfortunately, the roadblocks continued to mount, and I found myself in a worse position than before. Frustrated and unsure of what to do next, I realized that I needed professional help. I began researching options for recovering my funds, and that's when I discovered Tech Cyber Force Recovery. After reading about their exceptional track record in assisting clients who had fallen victim to investment fraud, I decided to reach out to them for help. From the very first interaction, it was clear that Tech Cyber Force Recovery was different. Their team was responsive, professional, and, most importantly, understanding of the urgency of my situation. I provided them with all the necessary details of my investment, and their experts took over from there. Within a remarkably short period, they managed to locate and recover my funds, something I had believed to be an impossible feat after so many failed attempts. I am deeply grateful to Tech Cyber Force Recovery for their dedication, expertise, and professionalism throughout the entire process. They not only recovered my funds but did so with complete discretion and transparency. Their services are unparalleled, and I wholeheartedly trust them with any future needs. CONTACT THEM ON WEBSITE h tt ps : // tech cyber force recovery.com TELEGRAM (@) TECHCYBERFORC

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I can't emphasize enough how badly I regret dealing with a fraudulent crypto broker. My experience was an absolute disaster, and I want to share my story as a cautionary tale to help others avoid falling victim to the growing trend of crypto fraud. From the moment I signed up, endless promises were made by the trading platform, and I was drawn in by the allure of easy profits. However, it quickly became clear that their true motives were far from genuine. Within the first three months, I had deposited hundreds of thousands of dollars into my trading account, believing in the potential returns that were promised to me. The person assigned to manage my account was uncooperative and dismissive. Instead of offering assistance or guidance, they seemed far more interested in persuading me to add more money to my account. I was convinced that the more I invested, the greater my profits would be. But in reality, they were exploiting my trust and manipulating me. As time went on, I attempted to access my funds but found myself locked out of my trading account. I could no longer log in, and the company became increasingly unresponsive. They demanded excessive paperwork, including countless bank statements, and no matter how much I complied, the process became more delayed and complicated. I began to realize that they were intentionally making it difficult for me to withdraw my money. It became obvious that my crypto investment had been hijacked, and I was nothing more than a victim of their scam. I felt hopeless. I had been scammed out of a significant amount of money and had no idea where to turn. But after some research, I discovered that it is possible to retrieve crypto sent out of a wallet with the help of a professional crypto recovery specialist. That’s when I found Digital Tech Guard Recovery. I cannot stress enough how crucial their role was in helping me recover my lost funds. WhatsApp: +1 (443) 859 - 2886 Email @ digitaltechguard.com Telegram: digitaltechguardrecovery.com Website link: digitaltechguard.com

You learn to say what you really mean when you have had your pretence beat out of you” “We split up at least once a week….forever” “That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens, you drink in an attempt to forget, if something good happens, you drink in order to celebrate, and if nothing happens, you drink to make something happen”. "People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbalism, Catholicism, weight lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yoghurt, Beethoven,, Bac, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice” “When I was young, I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little to kill

In the vibrant city of Berlin, I found myself ensnared in a labyrinthine scheme orchestrated by a deceitful cryptocurrency trading platform. Lured by enticing promises of substantial returns, I invested a staggering €305,391.04, only to uncover the disheartening reality that the broker was nothing more than a cunning scam artist. My ordeal began innocently enough; I was encouraged to deposit funds, and as my account displayed fictitious profits, I was relentlessly bombarded with demands for exorbitant withdrawal fees. Each time I acquiesced to their needs, the fees escalated, revealing the grim truth that I was trapped in a vicious cycle of exploitation. As the weight of my predicament became unbearable, I confided in my friend Frank, who had previously navigated similar treacherous waters. He recommended TECHY FORCE CYBER RETRIEVAL, a name that ignited a flicker of hope amidst my despair. Skeptical yet desperate, I reached out to TECHY FORCE CYBER RETRIEVAL, meticulously detailing my harrowing experience. To my relief, they responded with remarkable promptness, exhibiting a level of professionalism and empathy that reassured me I was in capable hands. The recovery process was executed with astonishing efficiency and alacrity. Within a mere 48 hours, I was astounded to discover that my lost funds had been successfully reclaimed. TECHY FORCE CYBER RETRIEVAL employed a combination of astute investigative techniques and strategic legal maneuvers to trace the funds and negotiate their return. Their expertise in navigating the intricate landscape of cryptocurrency scams proved invaluable, as they adeptly maneuvered through the complexities of digital transactions. Thanks to TECHY FORCE CYBER RETRIEVAL, I not only regained my financial stability but also my peace of mind. This experience served as a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities inherent in the realm of online trading. Yet, it also underscored the paramount importance of seeking assistance from professionals who specialize in recovery. I now advocate for vigilance in cryptocurrency investments, urging others to conduct thorough due diligence and remain alert to potential scams. For anyone grappling with similar challenges, I wholeheartedly recommend contacting TECHY FORCE CYBER RETRIEVAL. Their unwavering dedication to assisting victims of fraud is unparalleled, and they possess the expertise and resources necessary to reclaim what is rightfully yours. Do not hesitate to reach out; your financial recovery may be just a message away. GET IN TOUCH WITH THEM-------- Website WWW. techy forcecy berretri eval .com WhatsApp or call +15617263697

I met someone on a kink connect app, and our conversations quickly escalated. The chemistry was palpable, and what started as casual chats soon turned into deep discussions about our desires and fantasies. The individual seemed knowledgeable and charismatic, which made me feel at ease. As we exchanged messages, I found myself drawn into their world, captivated by their charm and the promise of an exciting connection. Our relationship developed, the conversation took a surprising turn. The person introduced the idea of investing in cryptocurrency, claiming it was a fantastic opportunity to grow wealth quickly. At first, I had heard about the volatility of crypto markets and the risks involved. But the allure of potential profits, combined with the trust I had built in our interactions, made me reconsider. The scammer provided what appeared to be legitimate instructions for transferring my crypto assets to a banking app based in Singapore. They assured me that this was a safe and secure method to invest, emphasizing the potential returns I could reap. Trusting their guidance, I decided to take the plunge. I sent Ethereum (ETH), Bitcoin (BTC), and USDT in three separate transactions, each time feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. I believed I was making a wise financial decision, convinced that I was on the brink of a lucrative investment. It wasn’t until I attempted to withdraw my supposed profits that the reality of the situation hit me. The app became unresponsive, and my attempts to contact the scammer went unanswered. Panic set in as I realized I had fallen victim to a sophisticated scam. I had lost thousands of dollars, and the weight of that loss was crushing. Desperate to recover my funds, I turned to FUNDS RECLAIMER COMPANY, a company specializing in cryptocurrency recovery. Their expertise in tracing lost assets gave me hope. The team at FUNDS RECLAIMER COMPANY conducted a thorough blockchain forensic analysis and was able to trace the scammer’s wallet. This intricate process required specialized knowledge, and I was grateful to have their support in navigating this challenging situation. After several days of investigation and communication with various financial institutions, FUNDS RECLAIMER COMPANY successfully recovered all my funds, totaling approximately $287,000. The relief I felt was overwhelming; I had not only regained my financial stability but also learned a valuable lesson about the importance of vigilance in online interactions. This has made me more cautious in my online dealings. While the world of online dating can be exciting, it is crucial to remain aware of the potential risks, especially when financial transactions are involved. Thanks to FUNDS RECLAIMER COMPANY, I was able to reclaim my lost assets. CONTACT: Telegram>>> @fundsreclaimercompany0 Email>>> fundsreclaimercompany@zohomail.com

I invested a total of $176,000.00 USD worth of Bitcoin with an online company called CryptoMax Traders, which promised extraordinary returns through trading. The company guaranteed a payout of 55% per week, which, at first glance, seemed like an incredible opportunity. The allure of such high returns was hard to resist, and I was eager to grow my investment. Initially, everything appeared to be going smoothly, and I was optimistic about the potential profits that awaited me my excitement quickly turned to dread when CryptoMax Traders abruptly shut down its website. Despite this, I was still able to access my account dashboard, which showed that my investment had compounded significantly. To my shock, my initial investment of $176,000 had ballooned to an astonishing $559,500 USD. I felt a mix of exhilaration and anxiety as I prepared to request a withdrawal, hoping to secure my profits.When I submitted my withdrawal request, I was met with disappointment as it was declined. This was a crushing blow, and I felt a wave of frustration and helplessness wash over me. I had placed my trust in CryptoMax Traders, and now it seemed that my hard-earned money was slipping away. In my desperation, I confided in a colleague at work about my predicament. They listened empathetically and shared their own experience of being scammed by a similar company.My colleague then mentioned a recovery expert named HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS who had successfully assisted them in reclaiming their lost funds. Intrigued and hopeful, I decided to reach out to HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS immediately. I was skeptical at first, but I felt I had nothing to lose.To my surprise, the process was straightforward and efficient. HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS guided me through each step, meticulously explaining what needed to be done to initiate the recovery process. They were knowledgeable, and genuinely concerned about helping me reclaim my investment. Within the same week, I received confirmation that my funds were being recovered.The speed and effectiveness of their service were nothing short of miraculous. I was astounded by how quickly they worked, and I felt a renewed sense of hope. Thanks to their expertise and dedication, I was able to recover my entire investment, which felt like a tremendous weight lifted off my shoulders.After the recovery, I contacted my bank to inform them about the situation and the recovery process. They were supportive and provided invaluable guidance on how to secure my accounts and protect myself from future scams. I learned the importance of vigilance and the necessity to monitor my financial activities closely.I want to share this to raise awareness for others who may find themselves in similar situations. If you ever become a victim of a scam like I did, I strongly encourage you to reach out to HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS. Their services can be valuable in helping you navigate the recovery process and reclaim your lost funds. Remember, you are not alone in this struggle, and there is hope for recovery. It's crucial to stay informed and vigilant about online investments, as the cryptocurrency landscape can be filled with pitfalls. For more information, please contact them via the below details. Whatsapp:‪‪‪‪ ‪‪‪‪+31 (6 47) 999-256‬‬‬‬ Telegram: ‪ ‪‪‪‪+1(659) 217-9239‬‬‬‬ Email: hackathon tech service @ mail . com 

Demanders say: I’m dying here. I am shut down. My feelings don’t matter. It’s lonelier than living alone. By myself. Dismissed. I get no response. I’m hammering on their door. I yell to get a response — any response. We’re roommates. I don’t matter to them. Withdrawers say: I never get it right — can’t please. I give up, space out. Best to avoid a fight — try to keep things calm. I’m failing here. Paralyzed. No point. Go behind my wall. I try to fix it — but it doesn’t work. I numb out. A.R.E.: ACCESSIBILITY, RESPONSIVENESS, AND ENGAGEMENT The key question in our love relationships is, “Are you there for me?” This translates to, “Do I matter to you? Can I reach you? Are you accessible, emotionally available to me? Can I rely on you to respond when I need you? Will you engage with me, give me your attention?” “Are you there for me?” is the A.R.E. question. This key question is buried, hidden just under the surface in most recurring arguments about pragmatic issues such as chores, personality differences, sex, children, and money. If partners feel safe and loved, they can deal with differences and problems together. If not, then relationship issues and fears get channeled into endless disagreements. QUESTIONNAIRE: How A.R.E.

WhatsApp info:+12723 328 343 After three successful trades, I found myself a victim of a devastating scam that cost me a staggering £35,000. My initial experiences with the trading platform seemed promising, and for a while, I enjoyed making profitable trades. But everything changed when I realized that what I thought was a legitimate trading opportunity was actually a carefully orchestrated scam. The platform, which I had trusted with my funds, disappeared without a trace, and I was left in shock, confused, and completely devastated. At first, I couldn’t believe it. I had spent hours researching and ensuring the platform appeared to be reliable. Everything seemed legitimate, from the interface to the communication with customer support. But as time went on, I noticed red flags. My withdrawals were delayed, and my account seemed to be locked. When I reached out for help, I was met with evasive responses and increasingly unhelpful customer support. It became painfully clear that I had been deceived. I tried to contact Kraken, assuming the platform was somehow related, but quickly realized I was getting nowhere. My emails went unanswered, and the phone lines were either busy or disconnected. It felt like I was being brushed aside, and I was left to deal with this nightmare alone. I was desperate, frustrated, and unsure of what to do next. That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands. I started researching online and came across stories of people who had faced similar scams. That’s when I found ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST, a company specializing in helping victims of financial scams recover their lost funds. It wasn’t easy—there were many moments when I doubted the process and questioned if it would even work. But I had nothing to lose, so I decided to give it a try. From the very first interaction, the team at ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST was professional, understanding, and determined to help me get my money back. Their expertise in tracing and recovering stolen funds was evident, and with their persistence, they were able to track down the scam and successfully recover my £35,000.If you’re reading this and have found yourself in a similar situation, I urge you to be extremely cautious before investing your hard-earned money into platforms or any others that might seem too good to be true. Email info: Adwarerecoveryspecialist (@) auctioneer.net And if you’ve already been scammed, don’t suffer in silence. Reach out to the experts at ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST . They were a lifeline for me during one of the darkest times in my life, and I am forever grateful for their help. Thanks to their diligence, I was able to reclaim my funds.

I am writing to express my sincere appreciation for all the hard work that Tech Cyber Force Recovery has done in retrieving my XRP, TON, and BNB assets from the fraudulent investment platform I became involved with. I am based in Ontario, and I initially came across this platform through a broker agent on LinkedIn. At the time, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. When I first contacted you a month ago, I wasn’t sure whether there was any hope of recovering my funds, and I certainly didn’t think it would be possible to get my XRP, TON, and BNB assets back so quickly. I was extremely skeptical at first, mainly because it was my first experience dealing with a situation like this. I had never heard of any service, let alone a firm, being able to trace and recover digital assets lost through fraudulent transactions. The whole concept seemed too good to be true. But from the moment I reached out to Tech Cyber Force Recovery I felt a sense of reassurance, though still doubtful about the outcome. The process of working with your team proved to be a game-changer for me. After my initial deposit into the platform, everything seemed fine. However, once I attempted to withdraw my funds, I was met with resistance. I was asked for various forms of "settlement" payments before they would release my assets. This was a clear red flag, and it only became more suspicious as I continued to interact with their so-called support desk and agent. Despite my repeated requests for assistance, I was given the runaround, and the withdrawal process never moved forward. It was becoming increasingly clear that I had fallen victim to a scam. A colleague at work suggested that I look into Tech Cyber Force Recovery as a potential solution to my problem. After reading some positive reviews and testimonials, I decided to give it a try, though still unsure of how effective it would be. I am so glad I did. Tech Cyber Force Recovery not only provided a professional and efficient service but also acted quickly to trace and recover my lost XRP, TON, and BNB assets. The results were beyond what I had expected, and I’m truly grateful for your commitment to resolving my case. I want to sincerely thank Tech Cyber Force Recovery for your hard work, expertise, and dedication in helping me recover my funds. Your service has exceeded all of my expectations, and I will certainly recommend you to anyone who finds themselves in a similar situation. Thank you again for your assistance. TELEGRAM\\ +.1.5.6.1.7.2.6.3.6.9.7 EMAIL\\ Tech cybers force recovery(@)cyber services (.)com

Yet Ralph was not without collateral of sorts. His absence in Berkshire left his paramour, the madam milliner, in distress both emotional and financial. Her relationship with Ralph had cost her friends and a job. She knew Franklin as an easy mark for a hard tale; with tears, sighs, and doubtless the well-timed coquettish glance, she took up where Ralph had left off fishing in Franklin’s purse. Yet Franklin was not a complete naïf, at least not on this point. He favored her requests for money, then made a request of his own. As he phrased it later: “Presuming on my importance to her, I attempted familiarities.” The vigor of his attempt exceeded its welcome. The initiative was “repulsed with a proper resentment,” forcing Franklin to withdraw. The miscue cost him more than embarrassment. The woman informed Ralph of the real Mr. Franklin’s improper advance, prompting Ralph to declare his friendship with Franklin ended and his financial obligations canceled. Franklin felt himself in no position to make an issue of his loss. As he was learning to do, he philosophized that this was all for the best. He never would have seen the money anyway; nothing had been sacrificed save his good reputation in the eyes of a woman whose own reputation was hardly the finest, and of a friend who was no true friend. “In the loss of his friendship,” Franklin concluded of Ralph, “I found myself relieved from a burden.

Because you see, it’d taken months of agony, of withdrawal, of anger and pain and depression and losing more of myself than I care to admit to finally emerge on the other side of my life with Jamie Shaw. Every minute hurt, until one day it was sort of a dull ache, and then with more passing time it weakened to only a pressure — that pressure in my chest. I’d completed my twelve-step program. I was clean. I wanted to stay clean.

Three months ago, I found myself in a situation I never saw coming. I was introduced to a cryptocurrency investment platform through Telegram that promised high returns. After doing some research and feeling confident in the opportunity, I decided to invest a significant amount, $120,000. Initially, everything seemed to go smoothly, and I even made some profits, which only reinforced my belief that I had made a wise decision. However, when I tried to withdraw my funds on the scheduled date, I was suddenly blocked. I contacted customer support multiple times, but all my messages went unanswered. That’s when it hit me: I had been scammed. Feeling completely helpless and desperate to recover my money, I began searching for solutions. After countless hours of research, I stumbled upon HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS. From the very first interaction with their team, I felt a sense of relief. They reassured me that they specialized in cases just like mine and had the expertise to help me recover my funds. They were professional, compassionate, and determined to assist me. Right from the start, they began working on a strategy to get my money back. What truly impressed me was the level of professionalism and transparency the team at HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS displayed. They kept me informed at every step of the process, explaining the technical details of the recovery in a way I could easily understand. I never felt left in the dark or overwhelmed. They made sure I was fully aware of the progress being made, which gave me confidence in their ability to succeed.Thanks to their persistence and expertise, I was able to recover a significant portion of my lost funds. The process wasn’t quick, but the team worked tirelessly, never giving up on my case. Today, I am a much happier and relieved person, with my funds restored and my faith in professionals fully restored. I can’t express how grateful I am to HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS for their dedication and hard work.If you’ve been scammed or lost money to fraudulent cryptocurrency platforms, I highly recommend HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS. They are the real deal, knowledgeable, compassionate, and relentless in their pursuit of recovery. I can’t thank them enough for all they did for me, and I’m confident they can help anyone in a similar situation. Don’t hesitate to reach out to them. They will do everything in their power to help you recover what you’ve lost. Reach out to HACKATHON TECH SOLUTIONS via below contact details Email: info (@) hackathon tech solution (.) com Website: www (.) hackathon tech solutions (.) com W h a t s a p p : +3, 1, 6, 4, 7, 9, 9, 9, 2, 5, 6 Telegram: (@) hackathon tech solutions

Sometimes forgiveness feels like a process because you are in a relationship with someone who keeps hurting you and they aren’t repenting or offering an apology that is commensurate with the offense. You need to clearly establish appropriate boundaries. There is a difference between a shield and a boundary. A shield is something I pick up to protect myself. I can pick up defensiveness, anger, withdrawal, or silence as a shield, and I can use that shield to keep the offender away from me and protect myself. It neither protects my dignity nor the dignity of the other person. But a boundary is used to preserve both my dignity and the other person’s dignity. When I put up a healthy boundary, I don’t stoop to the level of someone else’s dysfunction, and I call the other person to live at a higher level too, and this preserves the dignity for both of us.

WhatsApp info:+12723  328 343 Website info: http s:// adware recovery specialist. com Email info: Adware recovery specialist (@) auctioneer. net  Telegram info: http s:// t. me/ adware recovery specialist1As a financial consultant working in the United Kingdom, I’ve always prided myself on helping clients navigate the complex world of investments. However, nothing could have prepared me for the shocking experience I had when I fell victim to a fraudulent cryptocurrency exchange that cost me £6,500,000. I had been working with an investment firm, exploring various digital assets and potential opportunities within the booming cryptocurrency market. Like many others, I was drawn to the promises of high returns and cutting-edge technology that the exchange was offering. I believed I had thoroughly researched the platform and its features, but, as I would soon find out, this was a carefully crafted scam designed to deceive even the most seasoned professionals in the industry. Over time, I started to notice signs of trouble. Withdrawals were delayed, and customer support was becoming increasingly unresponsive. When I attempted to access my funds, the exchange's website went offline. After several failed attempts to contact them, I began to realize I had fallen victim to a sophisticated scam. My trust in the system had been shattered, and I was left wondering how such a well-executed fraud could have gone undetected for so long. In my despair, I turned to ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST, a firm that specializes in recovering funds from fraudulent schemes like this. From the moment I reached out to them, I felt a sense of relief. Their team of experts immediately began investigating the situation, utilizing cutting-edge technology and strategies to trace the fraudulent exchange’s activities. They were able to uncover the web of deception behind the exchange, including how they had lured investors with false promises and manipulated transaction records to cover their tracks. Thanks to ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST , I was able to recover a significant portion of my lost funds. Their dedication and expertise were nothing short of extraordinary, as they worked tirelessly to navigate the complexities of the digital currency world and ensure that justice was served. This experience, though devastating, taught me a valuable lesson about the risks associated with investing in unregulated markets. It also reminded me of the importance of having a trusted team of professionals who can help mitigate those risks and recover from unfortunate situations like this. I'm grateful to ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST for not only restoring my financial stability but also for showing me that even in the face of such massive loss, there’s always hope for recovery.

WhatsApp info:+12723  328 343 I want to share my personal experience with a scam that cost me a significant amount of money—$121,000—through a Greenfield Bitcoin website. It all started innocently enough. I came across what seemed like a legitimate opportunity to invest in Bitcoin, drawn in by professional-looking websites, promises of high returns, and positive reviews that seemed too good to be true. However, I quickly learned the hard way that it was all part of a well-orchestrated scam designed to steal my money. The website initially offered small returns that encouraged me to invest more, and over time, I found myself depositing larger sums. But as I tried to withdraw my earnings, I encountered delays, excuses, and eventually, no response at all. After weeks of trying to get my funds back, I realized I had fallen victim to a fraudulent scheme. The people behind the platform vanished, and the website was shut down, leaving me with nothing but the bitter reality of my loss. This experience led me to feel both devastated and hopeless, but I refused to give up. Through extensive research, I discovered that there are professionals who specialize in recovering lost funds from scams like this. After finding a reputable recovery expert, I was guided through the process of recovering the money I had thought was gone for good. The process wasn’t quick or easy, but with the help of professionals from ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST, I was able to reclaim all the money I lost to the scammers. I want to emphasize that it’s possible to recover lost funds if you know where to look and who to trust. It’s important not to blame yourself, as scams like these are designed to be deceptive and manipulative. There are people out there who can help guide you through the recovery process. If you’ve been a victim of stolen Bitcoin or any other cryptocurrency scam, or if you’ve fallen victim to any type of online fraud, there is hope. I strongly encourage you to reach out to ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST for assistance. They are a professional team experienced in handling cases like mine, and they can help you understand the steps necessary to get your funds back. Remember, you don’t have to go through this alone. With the right support, it is possible to recover what you’ve lost and prevent future scams from causing harm. Stay vigilant, stay informed, and take action. It’s never too late to try and recover your lost funds.

The little Mini-Tairn is becoming ferocious, isn’t she—” “I am no one’s miniature.” Andarna’s head darts toward him, and she snaps her teeth less than a foot in front of his face. My heart bolts. “Andarna!” I shout, turning quickly to put myself between her and Ridoc as she withdraws.

I used to see my friend Wilson at Arizona State University, and from the outside, he seemed to have it all the latest gadgets, a Range Rover Sport, and everything that appeared to define success. He was the kind of person who exuded confidence and wealth, and for a long time, I admired him for it. One day, driven by curiosity and a desire to understand how he achieved so much, I finally asked him about his secrets. With a knowing smile, he casually mentioned an online platform, claiming it was a sure way to make significant returns on investments. Trusting him, and believing in the idea that there might be an easy way to secure my financial future, I decided to take the plunge. I invested a large sum of money my student aid funds, which I had carefully set aside for my future. At the time, it felt like a step toward financial freedom. The promises were smooth, the platform was sleek, and the returns seemed almost guaranteed. However, it wasn’t long before things started to go awry. The smooth promises of high returns quickly turned into a barrage of demands for additional fees, each one more pressing than the last. I couldn’t withdraw any of my earnings, and the platform’s support team became increasingly unresponsive. The excitement I had once felt about my financial future turned into a cold, harsh reality. I had been scammed. I had lost over $15,000, money I could never afford to lose.The betrayal stung deeply. Not just because of the financial loss, but because I had trusted someone I considered a friend. I felt stupid and naive, unable to grasp how I had let myself fall for such a convincing scam. But amidst my despair, I found a glimmer of hope. I came across Rapid Digital Recovery, a team of experts dedicated to helping people like me reclaim their lost funds. Their team worked tirelessly, offering both guidance and concrete steps to help recover what had been taken from me. With their help, I was able to regain a portion of my funds and, more importantly, I learned a valuable lesson. Trust can be manipulated, even by people we admire. But there’s always hope, and recovery is possible if you know where to turn. If you’ve found yourself in a similar situation, remember that help is out there. Rapid Digital Recovery can make a real difference. Don’t give up. What sapp Info: +1 41 4 80 7 14 85 EMAIL: rapid digital recovery @ ex ecs. com

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In dark times, prevent me from withdrawing and just talking and thinking to myself. I pray for prayer.

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Hire a Bitcoin Recovery Expert Solution: Best Crypto Recovery Services: Please be careful when individuals solicit your funds or when investment platforms promise extraordinary gains. Approximately one month ago, I identified an opportunity to invest in cryptocurrency. I reached out to a broker I had seen featured in YouTube videos and proceeded to invest a substantial amount, roughly $787,000, which I transferred in Bitcoin. My account was subsequently frozen, and I was asked to provide additional funds before being permitted to withdraw, which made me aware that I had been defrauded. I happened to encounter a Google listing for DUNE NECTAR WEB EXPERT; placing some trust in myself, I contacted them without delay, explained my circumstances, and forwarded all relevant information I possessed. In less than 48 hours, my Bitcoin was successfully traced, reclaimed, and recovered back to my wallet. Kudos to the team of DUNE NECTAR WEB EXPERT for their professionalism and honesty. Consult their helpdesk via: Email: support@dunenectaronlineexpert.com

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