Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.

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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 wasn't 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 didn't 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 o'clock. 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 couldn't stand it anymore. Five o'clock. The phone rang and it startled me. Who might it be? I wasn't 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 didn't 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 other's 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 h

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