Afterword. A Year over the Precipice

A year has passed since the day I made the decision to write my autobiography. I am still here, and it is almost complete. All that remains is to say a few words about how this year has gone.

I spent the first few months thinking about the task in front of me, figuring it out, trying it on, sketching out a rough outline of the book in my head. After all, I had to describe 50 years of my life. It was a non-trivial undertaking, at least for me. A certain psychological preparation was required. I had never had to tell about my life in such detail before. Some things I had never revealed to anyone at all. And at the thought of what I would have to tell in the final chapter, my hands went cold.

The preface and a few paragraphs of the first chapter appeared in December. The real work began on New Year's Eve. It was the saddest New Year's Eve of my life. We didn't celebrate it, no — we experienced it alone with my father. He drank and went to bed; I sat at the computer as usual. My soul was so painful, as if someone had put screws in it, methodically, one by one. To distract myself, I opened the chapter I had started and began to write. I sat on it until morning.

From that night on, I worked on the book every day, without interruptions. Every day — at least somehow, necessarily. I set myself a deadline to finish writing by the end of next December. However, it came out faster than that. Perhaps because the book was relatively small. But do I need more? You can't tell everything anyway. And I wouldn't want to torture the reader at all.

The last year was very difficult, if only because it was a year of hanging over the precipice. With the constant, every minute, expectation of falling. When I woke up, I counted myself another day won.

Eventually some of the disciples returned to working together. Though our activities still didn't go any faster than before. On the contrary, it was slower. That's just the way it worked out.

Now for the rest. The hired carer was doing her job well. After a few weeks, however, she began to miss visits, to stay away for long periods of time, and then she left without returning the money she had received in advance. Then there was a second one, who had a similar story, but without stealing money. Now we have a third one working for us. Comrades are still helping to pay for it.

Natalia continues to come several times a week to help us. Her participation is invaluable. Despite the fact that we have difficult personalities, we managed to get along and became friends. The strange thing is that we hadn't spoken to each other for so many years, and then she just appeared out of thin air and became an important part of my life. I never thought something like that could happen. It never ceases to amaze me.

Due to all the changes in my life, my regime changed again. It lost its regularity and became floating: different days, differently. The time for writing has become much less, and the opportunities for Skype conversations with my disciples have also decreased. The current situation complicates matters in this respect as well.

My father had been doing well for a while, but now he's starting to give up. It is also incredibly difficult for him, because of the constant physical strain and stress, which he does not know how to cope with. He's more nervous and irritable than he used to be. This leads to almost daily clashes between us, often escalating into arguments. He is constantly planning to die, giving himself new and new deadlines, and sometimes shouting that he will go mad. His kidneys and joints ache from time to time, and sometimes his muscles cramp up. His heart started to malfunction more and more. He has also begun to forget and confuse the simplest things he has done hundreds of times. Sometimes he can't remember something that happened just the day before yesterday, or some facts that he always remembered perfectly well. His condition is deteriorating — not too fast, but more and more noticeable from month to month.

My condition is more or less stable. My heart aches, but that's nothing new. My eyesight doesn't seem to be getting worse, but it's not getting better. It's very difficult to work. Sometimes I can't write at all for several hours in a row, because I can't see the text, even enlarged and bolded. And sometimes I can distinguish it quite well. Anyway, I keep working. I plan to write half a dozen books in the next few years. Will my eyesight allow it? And will I have the time? We'll see.

That's the way it is at the moment. Life goes on. And I haven't lost hope for a better future, for a more favourable turn of events. Yes, it could all end today. And maybe there are still decades of fruitful labour ahead. I do not forget about the former, but I am orientated towards the latter. You can't do it any other way. Otherwise you can't do anything at all.

I'll put an end to it. In the book, but not in the biography. I wonder — what will happen next?

Homieĺ, August 23, 2024