What's the price you're willing to pay for happiness? Does it matter when? I'm at the last stage according to the Wikipedia entry. Except the Wikipedia entry calls it severe. It's just splitting hairs, anyway. But what does it mean? What does really believing it have to do with anything, except that this is the stubborn stolidity of the other kind, the kind that refuses to budge, the kind that's really hard to overcome. How would you react if I told you you've wasted the last 10 years of your life? Well, not wasted, but they were a waste either way. All lies. The first fear? Lies. The follow-ups? Lies. The whispers? Lies too. The hours and hours you wasted keeping the fear in check? Yes, those too. And the years I skipped in the middle of those? The ones I can't remember because, well, there aren't any markers I've left and it's too late now. They're wasted, too. Somewhere, some part of me is thinking that there are pins in my head pushing do