at that moment. I realized then that I no longer had friends in the real world, I saw the real price of that distant decision to start actively fantasizing, which I made in the ninth grade. It lasted a second, maybe two. Then I clearly remember how the haze, which has become such an everyday thing for me in the three years that I constantly dreamed about something, began very quickly covering my mind, until I was again completely immersed in myself, in my inner world.

It was a scary period of my life. I understood what the constant use of my imagination had led me to, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not do anything about it – the habit was very strong and refused to leave. And in cases when I was able to momentarily remove the imagination from everyday life, I immediately remembered stuttering and my lip, began to worry and think about it, and then thoughts again smoothly merged into the imagination. I could not leave from withing myself…

Since I did not study, I went to the village early. I think that I was helping my mother with the housework and almost did not go anywhere outside.

That summer, my aunt Liza died in the village. All my life that I knew her, she was very kind and responsive. She had never been rude to anyone and seemed to have had no negative thoughts.

Unfortunately, my father then got very drunk with my two uncles, and they could not attend the funeral.

Having problems with imagination, I understood that Liza was no longer alive, but I could not feel any feelings about this, everything that was happening was in a “haze” and seemed to be far away. I understood that such a state of consciousness is not normal, remembering very well my dream, and the full focus and pure clarity of consciousness after it. But I could not free myself from these shackles – with the exception of one moment when I was able to concentrate on reality for a sufficiently long time. Then it was evening, and I went for a walk. My friend Natasha asked me why I was so sad? I did not know what to answer – and then I still could not tell the whole truth. I did not want to be sad and live in boredom, and the imagination again consumed me.

One day our company was drinking. As far as I remember, I did not touch any alcohol then. At that time, many guys were crowding around one of my old female friends. They were hugging with her and so on. I do not remember if I was a bit drunk after all, or I just wanted to get a little closer to her, but to my flirtations she told me the following: “Listen, you moron, stop touching me!” It hurt me, and for a long time I remembered that incident, wondering why she said it to me and in such a harsh form? After all, I did not want to do anything bad to her and I was her old friend. She did not treat new strangers like that. Moreover, it was she who had previously told me that I was a “very handsome boy”. So what had changed since then?

There were other cases when some long-time friends said something negative about me to others and looked somewhat weirdly in my direction. I could only guess about the reasons for their actions, since none of my old friends told me anything at all. In addition, I did not ask them for an answer.

In the fall, when I returned to Moscow, I received call-up papers to the recruitment office. While I was driving there, I saw a very pretty girl in the tram. She was different from other people in that she cheerfully looked at the sunny street from the window of the tram. She got out of the car, and for a while I was following her with my gaze. I recalled her from time to time. In the process of writing this book, I understand that perhaps her cheerfulness was the reason for my craving for her. We already had something in common.