I understand that night most clearly now.
Estranged from the influence of your father, cloistered in your matriarchal fantasy, you were most intimidated by me because I represented the Force of Reason. You mocked logic by pretending towards its dignity. There never was a method underlying your madness. I had read your records; I knew you better than anyone else. Yours were not decisions predicated upon an established tradition, a logical order, moving towards a collective goal. Your fancies were born out of an incomprehensible ether of shameless Absurdity. You DEPLORED Reason and all of its instruments, seeking to rob me of them at every turn.
I almost lost my dog to you. I almost saw him get run over by a speeding car. Worse yet: I almost blamed myself.
I had only to prove to you that I was among those worthy of having their genes reproduced.
I still believe that to be the case.
Though I have never managed to persuade anyone else of this, I am worthy.
In return, you gaslighted me. You made me believe myself to be ill. You made my family believe this, too.
You were wrong.
I remembered everything more clearly than you ever did. I have been constant. And I have spent the last seven years keeping records of my thought, just to prove it.
I know my place in the Universe.
I wrote this to make clear to you that these ten years have not been spent in vain.
Goodbye.
Dmytri.
Post-scriptum: my honest prayer is that when you DO meet the World, you will see how much of you it has exposed, as well as how little of It revolves about you.
[Peace.]
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