Vincent Van Gogh: Painted with Words (2010)

My dear Theo, where can I go that’s worse than where I have already been? Shut up for long days under lock and key and in the isolation cell. I still have a certain “what’s the good of getting better?” feeling, however, the unbearable, unbearable hallucinations have stopped, reducing themselves to simple nightmares. Physically, I am well. The wound is closing very well, and the great loss of blood is balancing out. The most fearsome thing is the insomnia. I feel weak, a little anxious, fearful.