No one must know that my heart and mind are constantly at war with each other.
I'm my best and harshest critic. I know what's good and what isn't.
Surely the time will come when we are people again, and not just Jews.
I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. But, and that is the greatest question, will I ever be able to write anything great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer? I hope so, oh, I hope so very much, for I can recapture everything when I write, my thoughts, my ideas and my fantasies.
Dear Kitty, Nothing special going on here.
And what would be the point of turning the Secret Annex into a Melancholy Annex?