Friday, 17 November 1882

So henceforth I shall be less than anyone — incomplete, disabled... I shall need the indulgence and sympathetic complicity of my own people, the delicacy of strangers. Independence, freedom — all of that is finished.
I, so proud — I shall have to blush and distrust myself at every moment. I write this to make myself absorb it, but I do not yet believe it. It is so horrible — but I cannot yet take it in; it is so cruel, so incredible...
The sight of my fresh, rosy face in the looking glass fills me with pity... Yes — everyone knows it or is going to know; all those who were already so delighted to speak ill of me... She is deaf...