That famous quote: "Life's a gift. Every day's a blessing." Are they, though, when every moment's hell, every second, torture, and the days are spent exhuming the past, knowing that your life was dead and buried long ago? I have trouble relating to that quote, as severe tinnitus and noxacusis have robbed me of everything, literally. My quality-of-life is like 2%. No one would believe it — a world where every sound hurts, every moment belongs to pain, and every dream becomes translucent, out of reach and dead, like a horror story come true. How does one accept this world? How to cope with such despair... that's the mystery. The world's cruel — and its days repugnant — when dealing with such things. Life's beauty lies in freedom or liberation, not confinement or oppression. Such horror is lost in beautiful words, words they don't deserve, as tinnitus and noxacusis are too ugly for this world, even... too evil for its sins and treachery. They belong in the darkest corners of the universe, far from god and all things light. How, then, have they found a home here?