(Traduzido e enviado parágrafo Albert Bandura em Stanford .. :)
Friday, May 8, 2015 00:37 Maria back to the room. To this horrible story. The cold weather returned. I spoke today with Sarah and sometimes she has the rare gift of letting me worse than I am. Bitch. The bloody hell psychoanalysts. I swear I thought I was going to kill her and stop this pain. But maybe it does not end anything and maybe - and I hate her a little for him - all this mud where I get sometimes after we speak is part of a larger plan. As the end of the pain. If there is an end. The end that I seek and from which I escape: the mystery of little Clara The end of all this story, which revolves around itself a terribly misspelled history that never comes to anything. But for some reason I keep writing this shit. I read some excerpts from a guy named Bandura, speaking of motivation and daily use to monitor yourself. I do not know, I thought my motivation to write, the first motivation is to get rid of the pain. Pain that gets stuck inside me, Mary Stuck itself. But I also write to remember. This is the second motivation, I think. Then we have the diary, which is more or less what I do here. I do not feed me secret that someday someone will read it here. Perhaps an unconscious level, whatever.