Free speech is one of those things that I liked in America, when I first arrived. Escaping and finding answers to the dark things I gave my word to uncover was another, but the speech has its perks. Speaking too freely in 1917 got me scrutiny and locked up with the other crazies, but...happiness?
I can think of no one that I know who is happy. It’s an irrelevant factor, is it not, in the face of doing one’s given duty? One carries on, and bears up, because that is what it is to be a man or woman, not a child. Happiness is the providence of children alone.
Though I know that not...someone who was in hospital with me suggested that the reason soldiers grow mad is having lost control of ugly thoughts. Getting them out here seems to be a way to keep them from going out of control, and the rest of the people here from the madhouse is all that I meant.
Ah well, it would act as a warning if someone would be annoyed or disturbed to read something. If I truly spoke of things I have seen, the hearing alone could drive some into madness, so it would seem fair to warn people of what they risk. Not that it is my intent to go speaking or writing in the ancient tongues, but there are evils in this world I would shield anyone else from knowing, for example.