'A man in a room and no entering lives in expectation of a visit. He will be illuminated or horrified by the absence of a visitor. But however much it is expected, the entrance, when it comes, is unexpected and almost always unwelcome,' (Pinter, theatre programme for the Royal Court Theatre 8 March 1960)

'Obviously, they are scared of what is outside the room. Outside the room is a world bearing upon them, which is frightening. I'm sure it is frightening to you and me as well (...) We are all in this, all in a room, and outside is a world (...) which is most inexplicable and frightening, curious and alarming,' (Pinter in an interview with Kenneth Tynan, BBC, 28 October 1960)

It was after hearing upon this metaphor, rather, I knew of it, I just never in fact contemplated it or was presented with the situation in such a manner, that I became completely shattered in the idea that perhaps this very situation is happening to me. And not in the sense that 'we are all in a room,' (we are) lately, more and more, as the days pass I have become far more entrenched for days on end in my 'room'. As a metaphor and as an actual thing. Inhabiting my room and also escaping to a mental one when the world presents itself in some form which is unsettling. Thinking back I am trying to figure out the latter. Perhaps this is more of a literal thing, when I am actually out, it is fine. Or I have no room to escape to in my mind, or that I wish not to because I have left my real room for actual reasons. It seems I like being in the world once I have freed my 'being' from my own jail cell. It is just, it rarely seems to be of my own doing. Which is the problem. I shouldn't rely on the push of others to do this for me. And it is becoming increasingly apparent that this is the case. That I will lose out on much of life because of this.

I am most curious as to whether it is fear or indifference, or if, indifference is merely an excuse created by my own person as to not make it so I am fearful. I am completely unsure on the matter, and it is at times like these I have a hard time trusting myself. Knowing full well that there is some part of me that is very capable of deceit and trickery; to myself and others.

So I am completely shattered, devastated, what have you. I really am actually afraid that I cannot leave. Or wish not to leave. And in this, I am missing something very amazing and wonderful outside of 'the room'. Maybe, (I think to myself, musing, while I write), that that was my real intention for leaving in the first place. By leaving, I meant, coming to Norway. Though, at the time I was unable to voice the idea in words. It was merely a feeling and was blurry and not formed. It lacked sharp lines.

(I thought that I would force myself out, and that I would be forced to deal with the situation and I would transform into someone who did not rely on this room any longer. Because I really want to exist without it at all. That might be too much though. But I wish to be far more leaving of the place than what is normally in me.)

Those lines, are now there. Or at least there is an outline. This is me coloring in the picture. I don't like the picture. Because, what I see is a lack of ability to ever leave. I left, but merely discovered a way of entrenching myself somewhere else. If this is the case then I feel that I have failed miserably in trying to enter 'the outside world'.

However, it would be even more sad I think, that if it was not fear, but indifference. It seems to me indifference is far more dangerous and hard to fix as a problem than fear. And I fear that this is the case, regardless of deceit or not. I can only hope this place, this new place, has done something so that I am not 'as I was'. What I mean is, that over time, I will be able to leave my room.

And maybe it is because most of the time I see nothing at all outside of the room at all. But when I lay out such an idea, that, even if it is the case, can only be a partial truth. Of course there is something outside. Something much better. There has to be. Because there is almost nothing in the room itself.

The real problem is not being sure about whether one is thinking truthfully to himself. Lying to others at least allows the person lying to know what is real behind the lie. But lying to yourself, that can be the hardest thing to distinguish from. I fear without moving past this point, I can't progress much further. Or if I do, it is through hoops and circles. Going round and round, and maybe once in a while stumbling a little further closer to something. When in truth, nothing ever really was.

Either way, the last 45 minutes of my life have been awful.

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more to write on this later.