宇宙连环画

红烧肉就是带甜味的肥瘦参半的猪肉。瘦肉好处理，怎么处理好肥肉的味道呢？ 诀窍有二：

1.糖。糖与肥猪肉的搭配能产生意想不到的美味。

2.肥肉的质感：软烂。如此口感的肥肉与带有弹性的猪皮和结实的瘦肉相得益彰，在口感上凸现出3种不同体验。

做法简单的红烧肉：

1.红烧肉切小块

2.去腥味：滚水中加姜片、酒。肉块在水中滚一下去腥味。

3.软化肉块：肉块放入高压锅中。用一勺老抽，一点盐和一点生抽添加咸味。有淡淡的咸味即可。加一点酒和水，没过肉块的一半。煲20分钟。

4. 加糖：肉块煲好后，先暂留在锅中。 加2-3勺冰糖在加热的锅中，待冰糖溶化，不断搅拌，直至冰糖化成橙红色。此时把锅暂移到一边，以免糖炒焦，迅速把肉和糖混合在一起。用余热或小火保持肉和糖混合的过程中和谐交融。

5.完成：最后可以在锅中加入几小勺高压锅中的肉汁。或于顶上点缀新鲜香菜、葱花等。

软化肉块是很重要的一步，可以让带皮的猪肉变得软嫩。

加糖一步关键在注意不要把糖炒焦。

不止一次听到别人对中文的评论：¨这个东西我一窍不通，就好比让我说中文。¨¨中文一定很难学。¨连自己人也说¨我们中文是最难学的¨。

其实不然。中文的词汇量有限，几千字足够应付日常生活和阅读报纸，在西方国家，起码要上万单词才能比较流利地听说读写。其次，中文的语法非常简单，没有动词变位是我们中文的一大优势。看看英文的动词变位多么麻烦，一个单词随着人称和时态的变化有好几种写法，这让本来就上万的单词量无形中又翻倍，而英文的语法相较于其他西方语言来说，已经算是较为简单的。

亲身体验来说，生活在中国的外国人，无需刻苦学习，一年之内比较容易就能掌握日常中文。而生活在国外的中国人，往往需要付出更多的努力。

某天，朋友的公司里面举行了一次产品宣传会。会上，演讲者出示了这么一个图片，解释说这是中文的一句俗语：你需要依靠那些对你反复提醒了10次的人。

中文俗语？？中文。。。。。俗语？

在某大公司的一间办公室，我看到墙上唯一的装饰是一个相框，裱着这句名人名言：

¨Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work.

                                                        ------- Confucius ¨

（选择你所爱的工作，那么你永远不必工作。------- 孔子）

具有如此现代思想的儒家代表人物孔夫子，值得我们自豪！

Bill Zelle 是普林斯顿大学的计算机科学的博士。2011年自杀身亡时27岁。

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翻译：折翅

http://www.douban.com/note/130093797/

我想声明我是清醒的，我想为我的行为辩护，但我猜我无法说服任何人自杀是个正确的决定。也许所有选择自杀的人都是疯子，但我想至少解释一下为什么我选择自 杀。下面我要写的纯属个人隐私，我想过不写，但我想有个交代，而不想被人随意猜测我自杀的原因。我从未向任何人提过发生在我身上的事，人们很可能会对我的 死下错误的结论。

我的童年回忆始于被强奸，而且是一次又一次。这遭遇已波及到我生活的方方面面。我能找到的对它的唯一贴切描述就是“黑 暗，”它如影随行，阴魂不散，有时变为重重雾霾，使我不堪其扰。在幼儿园里，【由于受到性侵犯】我不能正常地如厕，只好在有需要时僵直地站着，这是我无法 解释的尴尬的社会行为的开始。性侵犯对我身体的伤害使我至今仍不能正常地如厕，但现在身体上的伤害已是其次，更大的伤害是精神上的。它每天都提醒着，我曾 遭受的凌辱和伤害。

这黑暗一直笼罩着我。我记得，幼时我会几小时不停地玩乐高积木，让我的世界里只有一盒冰冷的塑料方块玩具和我自己。我只是等待着一切的结束。这与我现在做的没什么不同，只是把玩乐高积木换成了上网、阅读、或听棒球比赛直播。我的心已死，只等肉体一同消亡。

在 成长中，有时我会感到无法抑制的愤怒，但在青春期前，我从未想过这种愤怒与我童年的遭遇有关。虽然那黑暗阴魂不散，但在我精力高度集中地工作时，可以忘掉 它几个小时。这是为什么编程吸引我。我从未真的喜欢计算机科学，也没什么数学天分，但编程给我提供的短暂平静像毒品一样诱人。然而黑暗一再地回来，我一次 一次躲开它，它却变得越来越难以逃避，因为编程已越来越不能庇护我了。

每次醒来，那黑暗都与我同在，它如同污垢包裹着我。我感觉我身陷污 秽 （注1），永远无法洁净。无论何时我想到那些往事，就会变得狂怒不已、烦躁不安，无法集中精力做任何事情。这种情绪上的波动表现在长达几小时的暴饮暴食， 连续多天熬夜，一次昏睡十六个小时，疯狂编程一周，或不断地去健身。每一天、每一个小时地生活在这样的混乱中，我精疲力竭。

每周都有三到四个晚上，我会做关于童年遭遇的恶梦。这使得我干脆避免睡眠而因此经常疲倦不堪，因为好几小时的恶梦并不能让我得到休息。我醒来，带着浑身冷汗和一腔怨愤。每天清晨，这样的睡眠都提醒着，我曾遭受的伤害和受控于那黑暗的生命。

我 从未能停止去想那伤害，而这妨害了我的社交。【当我想到幼年的经历，】我会变得愤怒，迷失在思索中，而这时跟我打招呼或搭话的人没法理解为什么我看起来冷 漠、有距离感。我四处走走，冷淡地观察外面的世界，不能正常友善地待人接物。我想知道，如果我没有遭受过性侵害，与别人交谈（注2） 是种什么感觉。我也想知道，是否其他人有过类似经历，而他们是否能比我掩藏得更好。

酒精让我暂时逃避黑暗。但黑暗总会再次找到我，它对我的逃避感到愤怒，并让我为此付出代价。许多我所做的不负责任的事都是因为这个。当然，我应为我所做的每个决定、每次行动负责，包括这一次，但事情如此发生有它的原因。

酒 精和其他药品为我逃避现实提供了一条出路。整晚饮酒能让我比较容易忘记，我没有未来可期盼。我从未喜欢过酗酒宿醉，但喝醉好过诚实地面对现实。我已经整整 七个月没碰过酒精和其他毒品了（自杀时我也不会用任何酒精和药物），而这迫使我诚实而清楚地评价我的生活。我看不到未来。黑暗将一直与我同在。

我 曾以为，如果我能解决一些难题或取得某些成就，黑暗就会离我而去。导致我问题的根源如果是我能掌控的事情，总好过是我无法改变的过去。我以为，如果我能进 好大学、好的研究所，或是减肥，或持续一年不间断地去健身，或编出有上百万用户的的程序，或是在加州或纽约消夏，或者发表我引以为豪的论文，我会获得些许 平静，而不是整天郁郁寡欢。但我所做的每一件事，都无法将我从没日没夜的痛苦中解救出来，也不能让我有任何成就感。我不知道为什么，我曾以为我的成就能改 变什么。

直到我第一次恋爱，我才意识到那黑暗有多深地控制着我和我的生活。我那时愚蠢地认为，不论我如何身陷黑暗，我的恋情是与此无关 的，是受某种保护的。孩提时代，我曾把将来的爱情看成逃避摆脱黑暗的一条生路，但我开始意识到那黑暗如何与我生命的方方面面纠结在一起，它将永不会放过 我。恋爱和与他人的浪漫关系不是一个逃生口，相反，他们使得我讨厌的有关黑暗的一切变得更加糟糕。我永不能拥有一次不被黑暗主宰的恋情，它影响到我亲密关 系的每个方面。

我的每段感情开始时都很好，有几个星期我能忘记那些伤痛。但当我们（我与恋人，译者注）在感情上靠近对方，黑暗将回来摧毁 一切。每天晚上都是我、她、与黑暗，黑色阴森的三人行。黑暗会包围我，入侵我，我们越亲密，它的入侵越疯狂。这使我讨厌被接触，因为只要我和她分开，我就 能像个外人一样把她看成是好的、善良的、洁净的。一旦我们接触了，黑暗也会裹住她，控制她，我心底的魔鬼会包围她。我觉得我像病菌一样，传染每个跟我在一 起的人。

爱情没有用。没有人适合我，我曾以为，如果我遇到对的人，爱情的力量会使黑暗退却。但部分的我却明白，即便找到对的人也于事无 补，所以我开始对那些明显对我没兴趣的女孩表现出兴趣。有段时间我以为自己是同性恋。我说服我自己，一切与那些事无关，是我的性倾向在作怪，因为这能让我 理解为什么事情总感觉不“对劲。”那黑暗在性事上最深地影响了我，这使得性倾向这个借口变得更加合理，而我在大学里初恋结束后那几年就是这么说服我自己 的。即使我对男人完全无感，而不断地被女性吸引，我还是告诉别人我是同性恋（在Trinity （注3）大学，不是在普林斯顿大学）。如果同性恋不是我不对劲的原因，那么原因是什么？别人认为我在逃避我的性倾向，但我其实是在逃避真相，那就是，我是 个直男，我从未在任何恋人那里得到过满足。我知道，那黑暗永不会离开我。

去年春天，我遇到了一个女孩，她和其他我交往过的女孩不一样。她 让我知道，两个相爱的人可以多么美好地在一起，我可以如此地在乎另一个人。要不是我被糟蹋得无法收拾，我知道她就是那个我想共度一生且钟爱一生的人。让我 喜出望外的是，她也喜欢我。她喜欢我这个被黑暗侵害后留下的躯壳。但还是没用，因为我无法单独和她在一起。我们之间从来不是二人世界，而是三人世界：她， 我，与黑暗。我们靠得越近，我就会越发强烈地感觉到黑暗的存在，就像我情感的邪恶倒影。我们所有的亲密，我深爱的亲密，被我无法忍受的对黑暗的愤怒消减殆 尽。我意识到我无法给她、或给任何人，全部的我，没有黑暗伴随的我。她永不能拥有我，而没有那黑暗与邪恶。我也永不能拥有她，而不让黑暗成为我们所有互动 中的一部分。我永不能获得平静或满足，拥有一段健康的恋情。我意识到，我生命里的恋情是无用的。即使没有遇到她，我也迟早会在遇到另一个合适我的人时意识 到这一点。即便我没有问题，我与她也不大可能在一起，我们会分手（我们的关系会像绝大多数关系一样结束），因为我们只恋爱了很短的时间。但无论与谁在一 起，我都会重复由于那黑暗导致的问题。爱与合适与否不足够对抗我心中的黑暗，虽然我曾希望他们可以解救我。没什么能解救我。我没办法解决这个问题，甚至没 法将黑暗推得够远，来维持一段感情，建立亲密关系。

所以当我们之间的一切分崩离析时，我冷眼旁观。我为我们的感情限定了时间，因为我知 道，由于那黑暗的存在，我们的恋情不可能长久，我也不想留住她，而这导致了许多感情问题。她被放在了一个不是她造成的不自然的关系中。无法知道我经历过什 么，这对她来说一定很痛苦，但我从未能与任何人谈起那些事情。失去她，我也痛苦万分。并不是因为她（我相对较快地克服了情伤），而是因为我意识到我没有必 要去经历再一段感情了，因为我和她的感情是我所能拥有的最后一次真实的、专一的恋情。我周围的其他人都不明白这才是我伤心的真正原因，因为我没法说出来。 整个夏天和秋天，我都非常忧伤，但不是因为她，而是因为我将再也不能用与另一个人在一起的方式来逃避黑暗。她如此爱我，对我那么好，给了我在当时想要的一 切。我将永不会忘记她带给我的幸福时光，让我能暂时忘却黑暗。去年冬天我本来计划要自杀的，但【因为结识了她】没有付诸实施。（这封信的部分写于一年多 前，其他部分写于我自杀的前几天）。即便我们只相爱了几个月，即便我们的感情已结束于很久之前，（我还是感到内疚），进入她的生活许是我的错，我本应不去 干扰她才对。她只是我曾伤害过的很多人中的一个。

我还有很多其他的恋情，毁于我的问题和我对那黑暗的困扰。因为我不好，因为我不能感受到普通人应该能感受到的一切，我已经伤害了很多好人。我能说的就是，我曾竭尽全力真诚待人。

我一生已经伤害了很多人，今天将是最后一次。

我 曾和不同的人说起过不同的事情，但我从未跟任何人谈过童年发生在我身上的事，从来没有。原因很明显。我花了些时间才明白，无论你和别人多亲近，无论他们声 称多么爱你，他们都不能保守你的秘密。几年前我以为我是同性恋时，我告诉了别人，我也学到了这个教训。那个秘密的伤害性越大，【一旦给人知道】，流言蜚语 就越是生动，你也越是可能被出卖。人们管不住他们的嘴，也不在乎他们曾发过的誓，他们只是TMD做任何想做的事，然后为之找个堂皇的理由。这让我感到无尽 孤独，永不能对另一个人诉说秘密而要求那人守口如瓶。我并不想责备哪一个人，我猜人就是这样的。就算我觉得我能跟人倾诉秘密，我也不想被其他人看成是受过 伤害的或被玷污过的人。所以即便我能信任某个人，我可能也不会告诉他/她到底发生了什么。此时此刻，我完全不在乎谁知道了。

我感到内心有种恶，想让我结束生命的恶。我需要停下来。我需要确定我不会去杀人，我要真的杀了人，反悔可就来不及了。我不知道这恶念是与我童年的遭遇有关还是别的什么原因。我知道杀了我自己来防止我杀别人听起来很可笑，但这个决定应该能显示出我的理智。

所以我明白了我将无法逃避黑暗和与它相连的不幸。我有责任阻止我自己伤害他人。

我 只是个破碎不堪的空壳。被猥亵的经历早已决定了我是个什么样的人，并塑造我成为这样一个人，成为一个怪物，而我无力逃避。我不知道还有其他可能。我不知 道，如果没有那些事，我的生活会是怎样。我厌恶我自己。我只是觉得，我已经从根本上破碎了，几乎不成个人。我觉得我象一头野兽，有天早晨醒来，发现自己困 在人的身体里，想要理解这个它完全陌生的世界，在它不能理解也无法产生联系的人群中生活下去。

黑暗永不会让我拥有爱情，我已经认命了。我 永不能拥着爱人入睡，感到她们的双手环绕着我。我永不能感受纯洁亲密的滋味。我永不能与我爱的人倾心相爱，而她本可以得到我一切的爱。我永远也不会有孩 子，而我那么地想成为一个父亲。我知道我会是一个好父亲。而就算我在无法感受到亲密的情况下战胜了黑暗，结婚生子，我还是没有生路，因为自杀的可能性一直 都在。我的确尝试将痛苦减到最小，尽管我知道我的自杀会伤害到很多人。如果我伤害到了你，我希望你能至少很快地忘却我。

揪出猥亵我的人没 什么意义，所以我将不提这个人。我怀疑，一个即将要死的人的话，发生在二十年前的事，且当时毫无证据，说出那个人（人渣，译者附加）来，能改变些什么。你 也许想知道我为什么不跟心理专业人士谈谈。从青春期起，我就看过好几个医生，谈一些别的问题。我非常肯定，医生帮不上什么忙。他们从未给过我任何实际的建 议，一次也没有。太多医生将见面时间的绝大部分花在读以前的笔记，好想起来我是谁。我也不想谈幼时被强奸的事，因为我知道没用，还因为我对秘密的保守没信 心。生长在一个对名人的各种精神疾病津津乐道、且将这些流言蜚语代代相传的家庭，我了解医患保密关系在法律和现实中的局限。要让我的秘密为人所知，需要的 只是一个认为我的故事足够有趣并拿它做谈资的医生，或是一个认为她有义务联系儿童保护机构并让我确认强奸犯是谁的医生（她会为自己辩护，告诉自己她是在救 人脱离危险）。只要有一个背叛我信任的医生，像那些知道我是同性恋的所谓“朋友们”一样，将一切弄得人尽皆知，我就只能被迫生活在人人都知道我有多可怜的 世界上。没错，我知道这说明我有严重的信任危机，但这是基于我大量的与人交往的经历。人们不尊重他们自己的誓言，也不尊重别人的隐私。

人们都说自杀是自私的。但我想，只为了你自己好受一两个星期而让别人继续活在痛苦和悲哀中，更自私。自杀可以是对一个短期困扰的永久解脱，也可以是对一个23年来变得越来越强烈而且一天天让人无法忍受的困扰的永久解脱。

有些人就是命运多舛。我知道很多人经历过更可怕的事情并坚强地活了下来，或许是我不够坚强，但我真的尽了全力。在过去的23年里，我每天都在努力面对内心的黑暗，我只是真的无法承受下去了。

我常想，生活对其他人来说是什么样的。能感受到他人的爱，并能回报以同样的爱，能在性爱中享受亲密愉悦，没有持续不断的痛苦，能体验到这个世界的绚丽色彩和精彩纷呈。我想知道，如果强奸这样的事没发生在我身上，如果我是个更坚强的人，我的生活会是怎样的。那一定很美。

我已做好死去的准备。我已做好承受这痛苦的准备，做好不再存在的准备。谢谢New Jersey州严格的持枪法，让我的自杀可能不必要地更痛苦一些，但没什么好说的。此时我唯一的害怕是搞砸了，没死成。


我还想说说我的家人，如果他们还能称为家人的话。我蔑视他们所代表的一切，我恨他们，我的恨毫不带感情、心平气和、而且我相信是有益身心的。如果他们死了，世界只会变得更美好 –- 少了很多仇恨和不宽容。

如果你不知道我在说什么，【我来告诉你】我的父母是原教旨主义基督徒，当我19岁时，就因为我拒绝每周参加教会7个小时的侍奉，他们把我踢出家门，断绝了我的经济来源。

他 们活在一个他们自己构造的非黑即白的世界里。他们将世界分成坏的和好的，憎恨他们害怕和误解的一切，并称之为爱。他们不明白我们周围有很多好人，不理解好 人是不分是否信教、是否“得救”的。他们也不懂得坏人、残酷的人占了他们教会信徒的很大部分。他们利用人们寻求希望的心理，教别人他们所擅长的仇恨。

一个信手拈来的例子：
“我坚信，如果一个穆斯林真的相信并服从可兰经，他将会成为恐怖主义者。”— George Zeller （Bill Zeller的父亲，译者注）, 2010年8月24日。

如果你选择信仰一个宗教，而【作为它的信徒，你被告知】试图成为好人的虔诚的天主教徒全都会下地狱，而强奸儿童的人渣（只要他们在某个时侯“得救”）却会上天堂，那是你的选择没错，但却是个糟糕透顶的选择。也许制定这些规则的上帝的确存在，要真是这样的话，去他妈的上帝。

他们的教会永远比他们的家庭成员重要。他们非常乐意地牺牲他们所要牺牲的一切，只为了他们那做作的信仰。

我 成长在一个爱全部由上帝来代理的家庭，而我从不信这个上帝。在我家里，我对任何一种节奏的音乐的喜爱都会引来一顿毒打。一个充满了仇恨和不宽容的家，由两 个专会在人前表现慈爱和温暖的人经营的家。我的父母会告诉一个八岁的孩子，他的祖母将会下地狱，因为她是天主教徒，而不是基督教徒。我的父母对外宣称他们 不是种族主义者，接着就讨论不同种族的人通婚是多么可怕。我可以列出几百个这样的例子，不过这样做太累了。

自从被踢出家门，我和他们保持 着相对正常的互动。我装作什么事也没发生过一样跟他们打电话。我不知道为什么我要这么做。也许是因为，我喜欢假装我有个家。也许是因为，我还希望跟人聊聊 我生活里的事儿。不管是什么原因，这些都是不真实的，是假的。我不应该让我和他们发生任何联系。
 
上面的话写于很久之前，大部分时间，我 对家都是上面说的这种感觉。但其他时候，我没这么怨恨。我知道我的父母的确相信他们信仰的这堆垃圾。我知道至少我妈妈非常爱我，并尽力爱过我。我迟迟未将 自杀付诸行动，就是因为我知道那将带给她多少痛苦。自从她发现我没有“得救”，将要下地狱，她一直很伤心，但她这种伤心不应由我负责。她的这种态度将永不 会改变，她相信我的身体没有我的灵魂重要。但即便如此，我还是不能理智地为我的自杀辩护，因为我知道这将伤她多深。明知道我的自杀会带来多少伤害还要去自 杀，也许这已经说明了我是个多么不值得活下去的怪物。我只知道，我再也没法坚持下去了，我很难过，不能等到我所有的亲人和我认识的每个人都死后再自杀，这 样我的死就不会伤害任何人了。很多年来，我一直希望自己能被一辆公车撞死，或是在救一个溺水的孩子时被淹死，这样我的死或许能更容易被接受一些，但我没有 那个运气。

我想对那些爱过我的人说，谢谢你们忍受我的混乱不堪、喜怒无常和恣意任性。请相信，那个人从不是我想成为的人。如果没有内心的黑暗，我会成为一个好一些的人，如果。我的确试过成为一个好人，但我意识到我在这条路上走不了多远。

对我的自杀给你们造成的痛苦，我深怀歉意。我真的希望我有别的选择。我希望这封信解释了为什么我这样做。如果你仍然不能理解我的决定，我希望你至少原谅我。

Bill Zeller （比尔 热勒）


请 保存这封信，如果它【从我的网页上】被删了，请重贴上来。我不想大家随意猜测我自杀的原因。我将这封信发给了比预想中多的人，因为我担心我家里人会试图禁 止它的流传。我不介意这封信被公之于众。实际上，我希望它被公之于众，让读不到它的人们读到它，并得出他们自己的结论。

请自由发表这封信，但必须全文登载。

============

原文：

http://pastebin.com/xjbFQJHx

I have the urge to declare my sanity and justify my actions, but I assume I'll never be able to convince anyone that this was the right decision. Maybe it's true that anyone who does this is insane by definition, but I can at least explain my reasoning. I considered not writing any of this because of how personal it is, but I like tying up loose ends and don't want people to wonder why I did this. Since I've never spoken to anyone about what happened to me, people would likely draw the wrong conclusions.

My first memories as a child are of being raped, repeatedly. This has affected every aspect of my life. This darkness, which is the only way I can describe it, has followed me like a fog, but at times intensified and overwhelmed me, usually triggered by a distinct situation. In kindergarten I couldn't use the bathroom and would stand petrified whenever I needed to, which started a trend of awkward and unexplained social behavior. The damage that was done to my body still prevents me from using the bathroom normally, but now it's less of a physical impediment than a daily reminder of what was done to me.

This darkness followed me as I grew up. I remember spending hours playing with legos, having my world consist of me and a box of cold, plastic blocks. Just waiting for everything to end. It's the same thing I do now, but instead of legos it's surfing the web or reading or listening to a baseball game. Most of my life has been spent feeling dead inside, waiting for my body to catch up.

At times growing up I would feel inconsolable rage, but I never connected this to what happened until puberty. I was able to keep the darkness at bay for a few hours at a time by doing things that required intense concentration, but it would always come back. Programming appealed to me for this reason. I was never particularly fond of computers or mathematically inclined, but the temporary peace it would provide was like a drug. But the darkness always returned and built up something like a tolerance, because programming has become less and less of a refuge.

The darkness is with me nearly every time I wake up. I feel like a grime is covering me. I feel like I'm trapped in a contimated body that no amount of washing will clean. Whenever I think about what happened I feel manic and itchy and can't concentrate on anything else. It manifests itself in hours of eating or staying up for days at a time or sleeping for sixteen hours straight or week long programming binges or constantly going to the gym. I'm exhausted from feeling like this every hour of every day.

Three to four nights a week I have nightmares about what happened. It makes me avoid sleep and constantly tired, because sleeping with what feels like hours of nightmares is not restful. I wake up sweaty and furious. I'm reminded every morning of what was done to me and the control it has over my life.

I've never been able to stop thinking about what happened to me and this hampered my social interactions. I would be angry and lost in thought and then be interrupted by someone saying "Hi" or making small talk, unable to understand why I seemed cold and distant. I walked around, viewing the outside world from a distant portal behind my eyes, unable to perform normal human niceties. I wondered what it would be like to take to other people without what happened constantly on my mind, and I wondered if other people had similar experiences that they were better able to mask.

Alcohol was also something that let me escape the darkness. It would always find me later, though, and it was always angry that I managed to escape and it made me pay. Many of the irresponsible things I did were the result of the darkness. Obviously I'm responsible for every decision and action, including this one, but there are reasons why things happen the way they do.

Alcohol and other drugs provided a way to ignore the realities of my situation. It was easy to spend the night drinking and forget that I had no future to look forward to. I never liked what alcohol did to me, but it was better than facing my existence honestly. I haven't touched alcohol or any other drug in over seven months (and no drugs or alcohol will be involved when I do this) and this has forced me to evaluate my life in an honest and clear way. There's no future here. The darkness will always be with me.

I used to think if I solved some problem or achieved some goal, maybe he would leave. It was comforting to identify tangible issues as the source of my problems instead of something that I'll never be able to change. I thought that if I got into to a good college, or a good grad school, or lost weight, or went to the gym nearly every day for a year, or created programs that millions of people used, or spent a summer or California or New York or published papers that I was proud of, then maybe I would feel some peace and not be constantly haunted and unhappy. But nothing I did made a dent in how depressed I was on a daily basis and nothing was in any way fulfilling. I'm not sure why I ever thought that would change anything.

I didn't realize how deep a hold he had on me and my life until my first relationship. I stupidly assumed that no matter how the darkness affected me personally, my romantic relationships would somehow be separated and protected. Growing up I viewed my future relationships as a possible escape from this thing that haunts me every day, but I began to realize how entangled it was with every aspect of my life and how it is never going to release me. Instead of being an escape, relationships and romantic contact with other people only intensified everything about him that I couldn't stand. I will never be able to have a relationship in which he is not the focus, affecting every aspect of my romantic interactions.

Relationships always started out fine and I'd be able to ignore him for a few weeks. But as we got closer emotionally the darkness would return and every night it'd be me, her and the darkness in a black and gruesome threesome. He would surround me and penetrate me and the more we did the more intense it became. It made me hate being touched, because as long as we were separated I could view her like an outsider viewing something good and kind and untainted. Once we touched, the darkness would envelope her too and take her over and the evil inside me would surround her. I always felt like I was infecting anyone I was with.

Relationships didn't work. No one I dated was the right match, and I thought that maybe if I found the right person it would overwhelm him. Part of me knew that finding the right person wouldn't help, so I became interested in girls who obviously had no interest in me. For a while I thought I was gay. I convinced myself that it wasn't the darkness at all, but rather my orientation, because this would give me control over why things didn't feel "right". The fact that the darkness affected sexual matters most intensely made this idea make some sense and I convinced myself of this for a number of years, starting in college after my first relationship ended. I told people I was gay (at Trinity, not at Princeton), even though I wasn't attracted to men and kept finding myself interested in girls. Because if being gay wasn't the answer, then what was? People thought I was avoiding my orientation, but I was actually avoiding the truth, which is that while I'm straight, I will never be content with anyone. I know now that the darkness will never leave.

Last spring I met someone who was unlike anyone else I'd ever met. Someone who showed me just how well two people could get along and how much I could care about another human being. Someone I know I could be with and love for the rest of my life, if I weren't so fucked up. Amazingly, she liked me. She liked the shell of the man the darkness had left behind. But it didn't matter because I couldn't be alone with her. It was never just the two of us, it was always the three of us: her, me and the darkness. The closer we got, the more intensely I'd feel the darkness, like some evil mirror of my emotions. All the closeness we had and I loved was complemented by agony that I couldn't stand, from him. I realized that I would never be able to give her, or anyone, all of me or only me. She could never have me without the darkness and evil inside me. I could never have just her, without the darkness being a part of all of our interactions. I will never be able to be at peace or content or in a healthy relationship. I realized the futility of the romantic part of my life. If I had never met her, I would have realized this as soon as I met someone else who I meshed similarly well with. It's likely that things wouldn't have worked out with her and we would have broken up (with our relationship ending, like the majority of relationships do) even if I didn't have this problem, since we only dated for a short time. But I will face exactly the same problems with the darkness with anyone else. Despite my hopes, love and compatability is not enough. Nothing is enough. There's no way I can fix this or even push the darkness down far enough to make a relationship or any type of intimacy feasible.

So I watched as things fell apart between us. I had put an explicit time limit on our relationship, since I knew it couldn't last because of the darkness and didn't want to hold her back, and this caused a variety of problems. She was put in an unnatural situation that she never should have been a part of. It must have been very hard for her, not knowing what was actually going on with me, but this is not something I've ever been able to talk about with anyone. Losing her was very hard for me as well. Not because of her (I got over our relationship relatively quickly), but because of the realization that I would never have another relationship and because it signified the last true, exclusive personal connection I could ever have. This wasn't apparent to other people, because I could never talk about the real reasons for my sadness. I was very sad in the summer and fall, but it was not because of her, it was because I will never escape the darkness with anyone. She was so loving and kind to me and gave me everything I could have asked for under the circumstances. I'll never forget how much happiness she brought me in those briefs moments when I could ignore the darkness. I had originally planned to kill myself last winter but never got around to it. (Parts of this letter were written over a year ago, other parts days before doing this.) It was wrong of me to involve myself in her life if this were a possibility and I should have just left her alone, even though we only dated for a few months and things ended a long time ago. She's just one more person in a long list of people I've hurt.

I could spend pages talking about the other relationships I've had that were ruined because of my problems and my confusion related to the darkness. I've hurt so many great people because of who I am and my inability to experience what needs to be experienced. All I can say is that I tried to be honest with people about what I thought was true.

I've spent my life hurting people. Today will be the last time.

I've told different people a lot of things, but I've never told anyone about what happened to me, ever, for obvious reasons. It took me a while to realize that no matter how close you are to someone or how much they claim to love you, people simply cannot keep secrets. I learned this a few years ago when I thought I was gay and told people. The more harmful the secret, the juicier the gossip and the more likely you are to be betrayed. People don't care about their word or what they've promised, they just do whatever the fuck they want and justify it later. It feels incredibly lonely to realize you can never share something with someone and have it be between just the two of you. I don't blame anyone in particular, I guess it's just how people are. Even if I felt like this is something I could have shared, I have no interest in being part of a friendship or relationship where the other person views me as the damaged and contaminated person that I am. So even if I were able to trust someone, I probably would not have told them about what happened to me. At this point I simply don't care who knows.

I feel an evil inside me. An evil that makes me want to end life. I need to stop this. I need to make sure I don't kill someone, which is not something that can be easily undone. I don't know if this is related to what happened to me or something different. I recognize the irony of killing myself to prevent myself from killing someone else, but this decision should indicate what I'm capable of.

So I've realized I will never escape the darkness or misery associated with it and I have a responsibility to stop myself from physically harming others.

I'm just a broken, miserable shell of a human being. Being molested has defined me as a person and shaped me as a human being and it has made me the monster I am and there's nothing I can do to escape it. I don't know any other existence. I don't know what life feels like where I'm apart from any of this. I actively despise the person I am. I just feel fundamentally broken, almost non-human. I feel like an animal that woke up one day in a human body, trying to make sense of a foreign world, living among creatures it doesn't understand and can't connect with.

I have accepted that the darkness will never allow me to be in a relationship. I will never go to sleep with someone in my arms, feeling the comfort of their hands around me. I will never know what uncontimated intimacy is like. I will never have an exclusive bond with someone, someone who can be the recipient of all the love I have to give. I will never have children, and I wanted to be a father so badly. I think I would have made a good dad. And even if I had fought through the darkness and married and had children all while being unable to feel intimacy, I could have never done that if suicide were a possibility. I did try to minimize pain, although I know that this decision will hurt many of you. If this hurts you, I hope that you can at least forget about me quickly.

There's no point in identifying who molested me, so I'm just going to leave it at that. I doubt the word of a dead guy with no evidence about something that happened over twenty years ago would have much sway.

You may wonder why I didn't just talk to a professional about this. I've seen a number of doctors since I was a teenager to talk about other issues and I'm positive that another doctor would not have helped. I was never given one piece of actionable advice, ever. More than a few spent a large part of the session reading their notes to remember who I was. And I have no interest in talking about being raped as a child, both because I know it wouldn't help and because I have no confidence it would remain secret. I know the legal and practical limits of doctor/patient confidentiality, growing up in a house where we'd hear stories about the various mental illnesses of famous people, stories that were passed down through generations. All it takes is one doctor who thinks my story is interesting enough to share or a doctor who thinks it's her right or responsibility to contact the authorities and have me identify the molestor (justifying her decision by telling herself that someone else might be in danger). All it takes is a single doctor who violates my trust, just like the "friends" who I told I was gay did, and everything would be made public and I'd be forced to live in a world where people would know how fucked up I am. And yes, I realize this indicates that I have severe trust issues, but they're based on a large number of experiences with people who have shown a profound disrepect for their word and the privacy of others.

People say suicide is selfish. I think it's selfish to ask people to continue living painful and miserable lives, just so you possibly won't feel sad for a week or two. Suicide may be a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but it's also a permanent solution to a ~23 year-old problem that grows more intense and overwhelming every day.

Some people are just dealt bad hands in this life. I know many people have it worse than I do, and maybe I'm just not a strong person, but I really did try to deal with this. I've tried to deal with this every day for the last 23 years and I just can't fucking take it anymore.

I often wonder what life must be like for other people. People who can feel the love from others and give it back unadulterated, people who can experience sex as an intimate and joyous experience, people who can experience the colors and happenings of this world without constant misery. I wonder who I'd be if things had been different or if I were a stronger person. It sounds pretty great.

I'm prepared for death. I'm prepared for the pain and I am ready to no longer exist. Thanks to the strictness of New Jersey gun laws this will probably be much more painful than it needs to be, but what can you do. My only fear at this point is messing something up and surviving.

—-

I'd also like to address my family, if you can call them that. I despise everything they stand for and I truly hate them, in a non-emotional, dispassionate and what I believe is a healthy way. The world will be a better place when they're dead—one with less hatred and intolerance.

If you're unfamiliar with the situation, my parents are fundamentalist Christians who kicked me out of their house and cut me off financially when I was 19 because I refused to attend seven hours of church a week.

They live in a black and white reality they've constructed for themselves. They partition the world into good and evil and survive by hating everything they fear or misunderstand and calling it love. They don't understand that good and decent people exist all around us, "saved" or not, and that evil and cruel people occupy a large percentage of their church. They take advantage of people looking for hope by teaching them to practice the same hatred they practice.

A random example:

"I am personally convinced that if a Muslim truly believes and obeys the Koran, he will be a terrorist." - George Zeller, August 24, 2010.

If you choose to follow a religion where, for example, devout Catholics who are trying to be good people are all going to Hell but child molestors go to Heaven (as long as they were "saved" at some point), that's your choice, but it's fucked up. Maybe a God who operates by those rules does exist. If so, fuck Him.

Their church was always more important than the members of their family and they happily sacrificed whatever necessary in order to satisfy their contrived beliefs about who they should be.

I grew up in a house where love was proxied through a God I could never believe in. A house where the love of music with any sort of a beat was literally beaten out of me. A house full of hatred and intolerance, run by two people who were experts at appearing kind and warm when others were around. Parents who tell an eight year old that his grandmother is going to Hell because she's Catholic. Parents who claim not to be racist but then talk about the horrors of miscegenation. I could list hundreds of other examples, but it's tiring.

Since being kicked out, I've interacted with them in relatively normal ways. I talk to them on the phone like nothing happened. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I like pretending I have a family. Maybe I like having people I can talk to about what's been going on in my life. Whatever the reason, it's not real and it feels like a sham. I should have never allowed this reconnection to happen.

I wrote the above a while ago, and I do feel like that much of the time. At other times, though, I feel less hateful. I know my parents honestly believe the crap they believe in. I know that my mom, at least, loved me very much and tried her best. One reason I put this off for so long is because I know how much pain it will cause her. She has been sad since she found out I wasn't "saved", since she believes I'm going to Hell, which is not a sadness for which I am responsible. That was never going to change, and presumably she believes the state of my physical body is much less important than the state of my soul. Still, I cannot intellectually justify this decision, knowing how much it will hurt her. Maybe my ability to take my own life, knowing how much pain it will cause, shows that I am a monster who doesn't deserve to live. All I know is that I can't deal with this pain any longer and I'm am truly sorry I couldn't wait until my family and everyone I knew died so this could be done without hurting anyone. For years I've wished that I'd be hit by a bus or die while saving a baby from drowning so my death might be more acceptable, but I was never so lucky.

—-

To those of you who have shown me love, thank you for putting up with all my shittiness and moodiness and arbitrariness. I was never the person I wanted to be. Maybe without the darkness I would have been a better person, maybe not. I did try to be a good person, but I realize I never got very far.

I'm sorry for the pain this causes. I really do wish I had another option. I hope this letter explains why I needed to do this. If you can't understand this decision, I hope you can at least forgive me.

Bill Zeller

—-

Please save this letter and repost it if gets deleted. I don't want people to wonder why I did this. I disseminated it more widely than I might have otherwise because I'm worried that my family might try to restrict access to it. I don't mind if this letter is made public. In fact, I'd prefer it be made public to people being unable to read it and drawing their own conclusions.

Feel free to republish this letter, but only if it is reproduced in its entirety.