The voice of criticism had long ago entered my own breast, which is why I now realize why I were so afraid of it
the denunciations were nothing but a continuation of my own unremitting self criticism. those told by others were things I knew, not because I had to read it, or hear it, but because it was engraved in my mind. the conflict with those criticized was an outer expression of my inner contradictions. Criticism was no more than the externalization of myself. this was the reason i was terrified
