Ana Doodle
subject = Self

Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.

"Nothing can bring you peace but yourself." "Yourself,"... I am
thinking about the time when my best friend died, and when I stopped
being myself and my life started going to hell.

It happened maybe two or three years ago. The day is very clear
in my memory. The weather was cold and nasty. The monotonous rain
made everything outside look gray. I was at home, waiting for my
girlfriend to arrive. I was sitting on the couch drinking hot tea and
feeling warm and cozy. My cat was there too, I remember. We were
watching a Mexican soap opera, and I think the cat was enjoying it,
but I wasnít paying much attention to what was going on. All I cared
about was that my girlfriend was finally coming home and that we
would be able to see each other again. She had left only four weeks
earlier, but I missed her greatly. We had been friends since the
first grade. In the beginning we were the worst enemies; we just
hated each other. Oh, how we fought! One time she accused me of
taking her marker, even though I did not know what marker she was
talking about. I remember her mother came to school and everyone
was mad at me and was convinced that I was guilty. Later she found
her marker. It seems she had put it in a wrong box. This turned out
to be the first, but not the last, accident that would occur. What
didnít we argue about? After a while, hmmm, five years, we became
the best friends ever. We were perfectly compatible with each other.

We began spending all of our time together. We were vital to each
other. I came to know each and every detail about her as she did
about me. My life was intertwined with her life and her life was
intertwined with mine. It was the most enduring friendship of my
life.

I looked at the clock above my head. Four fifty. She was supposed
to arrive at three oíclock. I felt uncomfortable; some weird feeling
crawled around my heart. I did not understand it. I waited and waited.

It was dark already and I was afraid of being in solitude. I couldnít
stand it anymore. Five oíclock.

The phone rang and it startled me. Who might it be? I wasnít
expecting a phone call from anyone. I got up from the couch and
picked up the phone. "Who is this"-said the voice flatly. I answered
him and asked how I could help him. I didnít know anything yet, but
my spine felt cold and I had an irrational feeling of fear. "I am

Detective James," said the man, "and I have to tell you that..." He
told me she was dead. A car wreck. He wanted me to come to the
hospital. Her family had died too.

I hung up the phone and I felt immobile. His words were like a cold
shower, a crash, whatever you want to call it, but as I felt, it was
the end, that line which separates life and death and I stepped over
it. My memories and feelings were erased and my life was amorphous. I
no longer cared about anything and nobody - friends, family, or
strangers - could help me. I mechanically did whatever they wanted
me to do, but I was immune to their advise and nothing could
illuminate my life. I thought my life was over, that it was empty. I
would never see her again, and we would never hear each otherís
laughter again. She died and part of me died with her.

Life went on lifelessly. Nothing was important to me. After awhile

I felt that I wanted someone to help me, to pull me out of my hole.

But it is hard to admit, nobody could. I couldnít find peace within
myself. At some point I felt like standing up and screaming-"HELP."

Some people tried to help me, but they could not. I donít think they
understood what I needed. Time went on and life did too. I didnít
find any mortal to help me, but I found a great supporter, a
benefactor in myself. I didnít have to go anywhere but within myself.

I didnít have to ask anyone but myself. This self helped me and
brought me back to earth, to the world with sun and happiness. It
soothed the pain in my heart and healed my soul. I talked to myself
and realized what I