I stink. I should wash, but I do not have the strength even for that. I lie here and think about trading, about prop firms, about how it might be different if I traded someone else’s capital instead of my own. I think about going to the States. I think about the house, wrapped now in scaffolding and insulation, changing faster than I am. I think about Bella and about how I cannot tell her any of it, because her suffering is greater than mine. Because I am the one who caused it.
I say: I give up. I do not only mean the shower. If I believed in
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